Wolves of War

by Martin Lake

Three women sat at the lord’s table, wide-eyed with terror, with half a dozen guards standing wretchedly by their side.

  ‘Are you the family of Thegn Wignoth?’ demanded Ivar.

  The older woman nodded. ‘I am his wife. These are our daughters.’

  Ivar gave a curt bow of his head and then addressed the guards. ‘You have a choice,’ he said. ‘Attempt to fight or put down your weapons. If you surrender the women will live. If you fight we’ll disarm you and you’ll watch them die. Very slowly. Very painfully. And you will follow them straight afterwards. But even more painfully.’

  The guards looked at the woman but she ignored them, staring with horror at the door.

  Halfdan strode towards her, swinging Wignoth’s head by the hair.

  ‘Put down your weapons,’ she told the guards, her voice sounding as dead as was her husband.

  ‘Sensible woman,’ Ivar said.

  He walked to where she was sitting, gazed in her face, and then at her daughters. He grasped each of their breasts in turn. The two daughters sobbed in horror but their mother bore it with grim determination.

  ‘One for each of us,’ Ivar said. ‘Tell Ubbe he can have the mother.’

  ‘I want the older girl,’ Halfdan said.

  ‘Too late. She’s mine.’

  ‘The young one has no tits.’

  Ivar tore open her tunic. ‘Yes she has,’ he said. ‘Nice little buds. If you want we can take turns with the daughters.’

  Halfdan grinned and nodded, then threw Wignoth’s head upon the table.

  The eldest daughter took a step towards Halfdan and struck him across the face. He laughed and struck her back. She reeled but came back and struck him once again.

  ‘This one’s a feisty vixen,’ he said. ‘She’ll be fun.’

  ‘You’ll regret this,’ she cried. ‘I’m Wynflaed, daughter of Wignoth and am betrothed to Beornulf, the nephew of King Burgred.’

  Halfdan shrugged. ‘We’ll break you in for the boy. He’ll be happy that we do so.’

  Leif gnawed his lips, troubled that these ladies should be treated so savagely. Ivar saw this and gave a knowing smile.

  ‘Take the women to some safe place,’ he called to Asgrim.

  ‘Concerned for the women, are we?’ Ivar asked Leif, tauntingly. ‘Or is it that you wish to bed them?’ He clapped him on the shoulder. ‘After we’ve finished with them, maybe. If you’re a good boy.’

  Leif turned away, fearing that his look of disgust, and desire, would betray him.

  ‘This is a goodly hall,’ Halfdan said. ‘It must be a rich town.’

  Ivar nodded. ‘I think we should stay here for the winter. It will save us the trouble of taking Repton.’

  ‘As you wish,’ Halfdan said. ‘As long as the town has enough supplies.’

  ‘More than Repton,’ said one of Wignoth’s guards eagerly.

  ‘Has it now?’ Ivar said, staring at him coldly. ‘And what is your name, lickspittle?’

  ‘Leofric.’

  ‘Leofric Lickspittle,’ Ivar said.

  ‘Yes, indeed my lord. Repton is small and consists of little more than King Burgred’s Hall. But Nottingham is a great trading town. We have food and wealth a-plenty.’

  Not for much longer, Leif thought, although he did not voice it.

  ‘Then that’s settled,’ Ivar said. ‘This will be our winter-quarters. This is our hall and here are our women.’

  He threw a penny at Leofric. ‘You belong to us now, Lickspittle. As do Wignoth’s women.’

  KING BURGRED OF MERCIA

  News travelled fast in Mercia. Only fifteen days after the Viking took Nottingham a man raced in to the Great Hall where Ivar and his brothers feasted with Wignoth’s wife and daughters at their feet.

  ‘An army approaches,’ he cried. His face showed alarm and fear.

  The captains threw down their food and seized their weapons, running to the walls to see for themselves.

  Leif wanted to make sure that Aebbe and the children were safe but Thorvald and Sigurd persuaded him to go with them.

  ‘The city walls are strong,’ Thorvald said. ‘No army will take them.’

  But when they reached the walls his words seemed to be tempting fate. The army which marched from the west was large, very large.

  ‘Two thousand men and more,’ Ivar calculated.

  ‘We have fifteen hundred,’ Ubbe said. ‘And we are behind strong walls.’

  His voice was confident, unconcerned. But Leif was not alone in having doubts. The Mercians can be reinforced, he thought, whereas we’re trapped.

  He had had been surprised when Ivar had changed his usual methods and ordered the lands close to the town to be pillaged. Now he saw the wisdom of it. Ivar was a wily commander and must have realised that the Mercian king would respond rapidly. He had wasted no time in building up their stores.

  Nevertheless, Leif’s heart sank a little. Mercia might well prove a harder nut to crack than Northumbria. He recalled Ivar telling him how wealthy the kingdom was and how difficult it might be to subdue. And unlike Northumbria it was united under one king, a king who had proved swift to seek battle.

  And the king was no fool. He deployed his army between the city and the river, denying the Vikings access to their ships.

  But Ivar was also no fool. He had left skeleton crews to man the fleet and it was already heading back up the river, out of reach of the Mercian army.

  ‘Do you think Wynflaed’s betrothed will be here?’ Halfdan asked with a grin.

  ‘Possibly,’ Ivar answered. ‘In which case, she may be of use to us.’

  ‘I don’t want her harmed,’ Halfdan said. ‘The vixen is too good in bed.’

  ‘Do you think only with your prick?’ Kolga snapped.

  Ubbe laughed. ‘I’ve always said it’s the cleverest part of him.’

  Halfdan bellowed with laughter, slapping Ubbe on the shoulder.

  Ivar, on the other hand turned his steely eyes on the enemy, ignoring all jest and banter.

  ‘Do you think that’s their king?’ he said. He pointed out a man riding a great black steed towards the walls, with a score of men behind him. They halted an arrow flight from the wall.

  ‘This one’s not a fool like Aelle,’ Thorvald muttered under his breath.

  ‘I am Burgred, King of Mercia,’ the man called. ‘Who is your leader that I may talk with him?’

  Halfdan and Ubbe exchanged looks and then glanced at Ivar. He gave a grim smile and leaned upon the parapet.

  ‘I am Ivar the Boneless,’ he said. ‘Our army is led by me and my brothers, Halfdan and Ubbe. Why do you disturb our repose?’

  Burgred’s face took on a look of rage but he swiftly masked it.

  ‘You have no right to be here,’ he said. ‘Nottingham is held by my friend, Thegn Wignoth. I would speak with him.’

  ‘You can speak with him but he won’t answer,’ Halfdan cried. ‘His head departed from his body.’

  Burgred froze. ‘He’s dead?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘And his family?’

  ‘They’re being well looked after,’ Ubbe said.

  ‘Especially the oldest girl, Wynflaed,’ Halfdan added. ‘She’s got the appetite and skills of a whore. She wears me out day and night.’

  A young man cried out and forced his horse forward. Burgred gestured him to remain silent.

  Halfdan laughed. ‘So you must be her promised man,’ he said. ‘She’s as delectable a maiden as I’ve ever tasted. Except of course, she’s no longer a maiden.’

  The young man looked stricken by his words.

  ‘And her sister, Eadburg?’ Burgred cried.

  ‘The little chit?’ Halfdan said. ‘She’s sore from her riding lessons. But she’s coming along nicely. She’ll make a fine whore.’

  ‘You devils,’ cried the young man. ‘You’ll pay for this.’

  ‘We haven’t so far,’ Halfdan said. ‘Wynflaed is especially eager to try new tricks.’

  Th
e young man seized a spear and flung it in fury. It went surprisingly far but did not reach the wall.

  ‘You have a feeble weapon,’ Halfdan said. ‘Wynflaed will be disappointed to hear it.’

  ‘Enough games, Halfdan,’ Ivar snapped. ‘Let us hear what their king proposes.’

  He placed his hands on the parapet and called out in a pleasant voice. ‘We Northmen have a bad reputation, Burgred but it is not really justified. We are honest traders, nothing more. We come in peace and wish to remain here only through the bitter cold of winter.’

  ‘You come in peace, you say?’ Burgred gave a hollow laugh. ‘Is it peace to slay the lord of a town? Is it peace to rape his wife and daughters? Is it peace to send your wolf packs across the land, thieving and despoiling?’

  ‘This is purely a misunderstanding,’ Ivar said. ‘We killed Wignoth because he fought against us. We accept his women in our bed because they pleaded for us to do so. And we scour the land for food which we always offer to pay good money for.’

  ‘You speak falsehoods as black as those of Satan.’

  ‘You may fear Satan but you’ll learn to fear us more,’ cried Halfdan.

  ‘I do not fear dead men,’ Burgred said. ‘And be certain of this, if you don’t leave my kingdom, your corpses will litter the earth.’ He turned his horse and returned to his army.

  Ivar looked thoughtful as he watched him depart. ‘Their king speaks brave words,’ he said, at last. ‘But I wonder if his deeds will match his boasts.’

  Ivar expected Burgred to launch an attack immediately and summoned all his warriors to the battlements, fully armed and prepared to fight. But no attack came that day, nor in the days following. Burgred merely sat and watched the walls while the Vikings grew despondent and fretful. They hated the lack of action and craved a fight.

  ‘Why doesn’t Burgred attack?’ Leif asked Thorvald after ten days of waiting.

  ‘I think he means to starve us out.’

  ‘We have plenty of food.’

  ‘It won’t last for ever and his army is too close for us to venture out for more. Our bellies will soon groan with hunger.’

  ‘It’s not only lack of food which will harm us,’ Leif said. He glanced at the warriors prowling the town. ‘This constant delay will eat away our courage.’

  Ivar must have thought the same for he sought Leif out the following day.

  ‘You have your ears open to the fears of our men,’ he said.

  ‘Do I?’ Leif was alarmed by his question.

  ‘You do. I’ve seen you watching and listening, watched your mind weighing up all you see. So, tell me now, truly, what is the mood of the men?’

  He wanted an honest opinion but Leif realised he’d best not offer it without some sauce to disguise the worst of it.

  ‘Your men are warriors,’ he said. ‘They like battle, action. As you recently told me, they do not take kindly to having their swords turning rusty.’

  ‘Are they growing dissatisfied with my leadership?’

  ‘Not at all,’ Leif said, hurriedly, alarmed that he had failed to speak with sufficient cunning.

  ‘What then? Do you suggest that I lead them out to fight against a much greater foe? I will not take such a risk unless I must.’

  Ivar was clearly angry at being trapped within the walls and Leif feared he would vent his rage on him. He weighed his words before replying, searching desperately for something to deflect Ivar’s wrath.

  ‘I don’t mean lead out the whole army,’ he said. ‘But send some men to forage. Perhaps others to make a swift attack on the enemy and then retreat to the safety of the walls.’

  Ivar gazed at him thoughtfully and strode away without another word.

  Leif was not greatly surprised when Ivar announced that Halfdan would lead a night attack upon the enemy while Guthrum took a foraging party to secure more food. The warriors, as one man, praised him for such a cunning idea. He didn’t thank Leif nor so much as glance his way.

  ‘A clever plan,’ Kolga murmured in Leif’s ear. ‘It will keep the men busy and fill our bellies. You think like a leader.’

  He looked at her in surprise. ‘You know it was my idea?’

  She nodded. ‘Ivar told me. But he is too much a leader to admit that the plan is not his. But if it were to go wrong…’ She grinned and strode off.

  Fortunately, it did not go wrong. Halfdan enjoyed a killing spree and returned safely to the town with all his men and the weapons of many dead Mercians. Guthrum sneaked back in the dark of night with a dozen slaughtered sheep and eight barrels of ale. It was hardly a great haul but Ivar ordered a feast.

  Everyone thought that he would repeat the raids the next night but he was too wily a commander to do this. He waited three more days before launching the next foray. The Mercians, who had been watchful for the two previous nights, were caught unawares and suffered more losses.

  ‘At this rate,’ Sigurd said, ‘we’ll gnaw the Mercian army to death.’

  ‘Don’t be too sure of it,’ Deor said. ‘Burgred is not like King Edmund. He comes from a long line of warrior kings and he will not watch his army bleed to death without a fight.’

  His words proved more than prophetic.

  Two days later Leif spotted signs of consternation from the sentries on the walls. ‘I think the Mercians are attacking,’ he cried.

  Sigurd threw him a spear and thrust a helmet into his hands. They raced up the steps to the walls and gazed upon the scene. Leif’s heart shuddered. But not because of the Mercians.

  Marching towards the town came a second army, with more than twice as many men as Burgred had. Ivar and Ubbe lent upon the wall and beheld the scene in silence.

  ‘See the golden dragon on that standard,’ Ubbe said, pointing to a large flag at the head of the army.

  ‘The dragon of Wessex,’ Ivar said in a chill tone. ‘So Burgred has sent to the Saxons for aid.’

  The wild cries of welcome from the Mercian army proved his surmise to be correct.

  The West Saxon army halted and a loud cry of ‘Æthelred’ echoed from their ranks.

  Ivar gestured Deor to join him. ‘Who is this Æthelred?’

  ‘The young king of Wessex,’ he answered. ‘He has been king for only a year or so.’

  And then more cries sounded from the Saxons. This time it was: ‘Alfred, Alfred, Alfred.’

  ‘They have two kings?’ Ivar asked. ‘Like the Northumbrians?’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Deor said. ‘In the past, Kent, the eastern part of the Kingdom, had its own king. Perhaps Æthelred has revived the tradition and given Kent to his brother.’

  ‘Then there might be rivalry between them,’ Ivar said hopefully. ‘One king is a dangerous foe but two Saxon kings and a Mercian one may have divided counsel and be easier to defeat.’

  ‘They have six thousand men,’ Kolga said. ‘You cannot hope to fight them.’

  Ivar gave her a venomous look. ‘Keep your thoughts to yourself, woman.’ He glanced around uneasily at those men who were nearest, anxious that they may have heard her words.

  Leif tried to look unconcerned although his heart felt like a stone.

  A short while later three men rode towards the walls, followed by a hundred horsemen. Burgred rode in the middle. The man on his right was young, maybe in his mid-twenties. The third looked a callow youth.

  ‘So, spawn of Satan,’ Burgred called. ‘You see now that my kinsman, Æthelred, King of Wessex has arrived with his army. You cannot hope to battle against us.’

  Ivar spat over the battlements. ‘If the puny creature beside you is King of the Saxons we’ll have no cause to worry.’

  Æthelred gave an angry glance. ‘Sneering words do not make a great war leader,’ he said. ‘I swear you will eat them.’

  ‘I shall eat you and your army, lord of Wessex. I have feasted on Saxon flesh before.’

  ‘You have done so for the last time,’ cried the youth angrily, spurring his horse in front of the two kings. ‘My brother will d
estroy you utterly.’

  Ivar laughed. ‘What a vainglorious whelp. Go back to your mother, boy, and leave talk of battle to your elders.’

  Æthelred gestured to his brother to return to his place next to Burgred. The young prince mastered his feelings and contented himself with staring silently at Ivar. Perhaps he thought his look threatening. Leif thought it looked childish.

  ‘We make an offer,’ Burgred said. ‘Depart my kingdom and no harm shall come to you.’

  ‘But you must leave within two days,’ added Æthelred. ‘Otherwise you will face dire consequences.’

  Burgred stared at him in surprise. The young Saxon king’s words had obviously not been agreed between them.

  Ivar chuckled. ‘You see, my friends, lots of kings make for divided counsel. We may yet turn it into discord.’

  ‘We still confront six thousand warriors,’ Kolga said.

  ‘Not warriors,’ Halfdan sneered. ‘Most of them are peasants, wearied from getting the harvest in.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s the case,’ Kolga said. ‘They have the look of fighting men, thegns.’

  ‘Even so,’ Halfdan said, ‘they are unused to battle. They will shit themselves when we charge them.’

  Kolga did not reply, contenting herself with an exasperated shake of her head.

  DIPLOMACY

  Ivar and the chieftains spent the next two days in fierce debate. The young hotheads led by Halfdan thirsted for battle and loudly argued that they should meet their foe beyond the walls. The older men were warier, pointing out the overwhelming numbers of the enemy and their fears that their own shield wall would be engulfed.

  The wrangling went on incessantly but Ivar took no part in it. His mind seemed elsewhere, and Leif suspected that he was planning some devious stratagem.

  He learned how right this guess was when Ivar summoned him in the middle of the night.

  ‘You speak good English, Leif,’ he said. ‘Because of your friendship with Deor and your English wife.’

  Leif nodded warily. When Ivar asked a question such as this it rarely led to a good outcome.

  ‘I want you to go to the King of the Mercians,’ he continued. ‘Take Deor with you.’