by Martin Lake
Of the three brothers Leif knew Ubbe the least but over the next few days he came to like him the most. He was good-natured and cheery although without the overwhelming, bluff boisterousness of Halfdan. Neither did he have the watchful, cunning nature of Ivar. He would be a good lord, Leif thought.
They had ridden for about fifteen miles when they came to a place with numerous tracks. Ubbe sent men to the east and the south but to Leif’s surprise he also sent some north and west, in the opposite direction to Gipswic.
‘In case Edmund is a more cunning warrior than we think,’ he explained. ‘We Vikings would attack from any direction so why wouldn’t he?’
‘I think you give him more credit than he deserves,’ Leif said.
Ubbe shook his head. ‘Ivar has taught me never to underestimate an enemy.’ He gave Leif a shrewd look. ‘It is a lesson you would be wise to take to heart.’
A chill took Leif’s heart. It seemed that his opinion of Guthrum was better known than he realised. Thorvald gave him a look of warning and he kept silent.
They stopped about an hour before sunrise.
‘I have no wish to go blundering into the enemy in the dark,’ Ubbe said. Then he beckoned Leif away from the men. ‘What think you of this place?’
‘To camp for the night?’
‘To set an ambush.’
He pointed out a deep stretch of woodland. It was close to the track for much of its length but then the trees grew sparse to one side leaving a more open space stretching about a furlong away from the track. There were numerous tree stumps and signs of charcoal burning: kilns, both new-built and old, and logs piled up ready for use.
‘We could lodge our shield-wall across the track,’ Ubbe said, ‘so both ends reach the trees.’ Then he pointed to the open area and the treeline beyond. ‘And we could hide an equal number of men in that wood yonder.’
‘But isn’t it risky to split our men?’ Leif asked. ‘We’d be pushed back by the weight of the English numbers.’
‘Exactly. And when we are, Edmund’s shield-wall will thrust after us. When they’ve advanced far enough their flank will be exposed. And our men in the wood will attack that flank.’
Leif gazed at the landscape. It was a good plan, he thought. As long as our wall doesn’t crumble.
They rode south the next day at a slower, more cautious pace. Ubbe sent men in twos and threes to ride ahead of the main party.
An hour later one of them galloped back, his face bright with elation. ‘The English are about two miles south,’ he said.
Ubbe looked anxiously down the track. ‘Did they see you?’
The man grinned and shook his head. ‘I’m as wary as a farm-cat.’
‘How many men?’ Thorvald asked.
‘It’s hard to say for they’re strung out for a good few miles. My guess is four or five thousand.’
‘We’d better go,’ Ubbe said. ‘The rest of the scouts will make their own way back at the end of the day.’
‘Let’s hope none get captured,’ Leif said.
‘And let’s make sure we don’t, either,’ Ubbe replied. He gave a grim smile, spurred his horse and led the way back to Thetford at ferocious speed.
BATTLE AND SLAUGHTER
Ivar responded swiftly when Ubbe returned to the camp, so swiftly that all thousand warriors were horsed and ready by the following dawn. The brothers led them out before the sun cleared the horizon and they thundered along the track as if being pursued by frost-giants.
Leif rode with his friends and his men close beside him. He made sure that he kept Guthrum in sight.
They soon neared the place that Ubbe had decided for the ambush. ‘We’re almost there,’ he said, glancing at Leif for confirmation.
Leif pointed. ‘That’s the place.’
Ivar reared up in his stirrups and swiftly examined the site. ‘You’re right, Ubbe,’ he said. ‘This is a good place for an ambush.’
Leif had been surprised at how swiftly Ivar had set things going the night before. He was even more astonished by the speed with which he deployed his warriors now.
They hobbled their horses two hundred yards to the rear, leaving a small guard of the oldest men to keep watch over them. Five hundred of the younger, swifter men raced towards the woods beyond the charcoal workings and hid themselves there.
Leif cursed because they were led by Guthrum. He’d hoped that he might stumble in the shield-wall and then he could seize the opportunity to slit his throat. It seemed it was not to be. His vengeance would not come this day.
The rest of the army, perhaps six hundred strong, marched forward to where the trees grew close to the track and set up a shield-wall.
For a while there was a noise of cursing and grunting, and then the occasional sound of men pissing where they stood. A few slipped out of the shield-wall to crouch in the trees to empty their bowels. Ivar was tolerant of this. A man who had purged himself would fight all the better.
And then they waited.
After an hour Leif heard it. The unmistakable sound of a marching army. The English were careless, believing the Vikings were still in Thetford, fifteen miles away. Their foremost men reared to a halt when they saw that their route was blocked by a shield-wall.
There was a brief period of confusion and then half a dozen men rode to the front and stared at the Vikings. Amongst them Leif recognised Edmund, Oswald and the arrogant young adviser Hwita.
It seemed as if Edmund was pondering whether to talk but then thought better of it. Now that he had seen how few Vikings opposed him he ordered his army to form up for attack.
‘How many English, do you think?’ Ivar asked his brothers.
Ubbe was the first to answer. ‘The scout who saw them yesterday thought four or five thousand.’
‘Which means there will be three thousand at most,’ said Halfdan. ‘Nervous scouts always imagine two enemies for every man they see.’
‘If it’s only two thousand they are four times our number,’ Ivar said. ‘Let’s hope Ubbe’s plan works.’
Leif pushed his way towards the front rank, his eyes vengeful as a serpent’s as he stared at Edmund.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Ivar asked.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘It’s obvious that you’re heading for your death.’ Ivar took Leif’s arm. ‘You’re no warrior, Leif, never have been, never will. Get to the back where you’ll be safer and can lend weight to our effort.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘It wasn’t a request.’ He held Leif’s eyes but not with his accustomed ferocity, more a fatherly look. ‘Take him to the back, Thorvald,’ he commanded. ‘And don’t let him do anything foolish. A dead skald is no use to me.’
Thorvald grabbed Leif by the arm and dragged him through the crowd of warriors. He was only just in time for they were closing ranks, each man knowing that his life might depend on the two who stood either side of him.
Leif and Thorvald had only just reached the rear when the English shield-wall collided with the Vikings. There was an almighty boom as the shields crashed, an explosion of noise from thousands of throats and then the thump, thump of feet digging for a firmer footing.
For a moment the lines held without moving, then the Vikings pushed forward a little, causing the men at the back to cheer. Encouraged by this they strained still more and the English wall inched further backwards.
But then it stabilised and with a cry of, ‘For Christ and his saints,’ Edmund’s men threw themselves forward.
Step by painful step the foremost warriors in the Viking wall succumbed to the weight of the superior English numbers. The only advantage they had was that they were retreating over dry ground, whereas the English were slipping on bloodied corpses. Yet still Edmund piled on the pressure and the Vikings fell back.
‘I don’t think we’re much safer here,’ Leif said to Thorvald. He nodded in agreement and unsheathed his sword.
Leif realised that his injuries meant he�
��d be more useless than normal with sword or spear so he’d equipped himself with a bow and a sheath of twenty arrows. Unbidden came to his mind the damage that Deor’s archers had caused when they’d attacked Guthrum’s ship long ago. He wished they had as many bowmen as Deor led that day. On his own he would be able to do little damage, if any.
The Viking shield-wall was thrust back until it was suddenly clear of the wood with the treeless area open to their left, leaving their flank exposed. Edmund would soon notice this and begin to lengthen his shield-wall to engulf them.
If Ivar doesn’t do something, and quick, thought Leif, our men will be annihilated
But finally, when more than half of the English army were beyond the shelter of the trees, Leif saw them. Guthrum and his men racing across the open ground, silent as wolves in winter.
A few Englishmen saw the danger but they were too late. Five hundred fresh warriors rammed into their flank, shattering it as an axe splits wood. By the time Edmund realised what was happening, Guthrum was half way through the English shield-wall and closing in on him.
Edmund’s household thegns saw the danger and formed a tight inner wall around him. While the rest of the English force began to split asunder the King’s men held firm, repulsing every attempt to come at him. With astonishing determination they began to thrust their way forward. The rest of their army saw this and took heart. With a mighty yell, they smashed into Guthrum’s men, sending those to the rear flying and surrounding Guthrum and the hundred men who were closest to him.
The ambush had failed.
Ivar saw the danger and ordered the shield-wall to thrust forward to rescue the trapped men. But it was too late. Guthrum was trapped.
The English remorselessly ground on, slaughtering their foes by the score. The battle appeared lost.
The Vikings stood firm but they knew they would be overwhelmed, knew they would soon be meat for crows.
‘No,’ Leif cried, leaping forward. Thorvald made a grab him but he was too late.
He ran to the left beyond the main battle, keeping Edmund and his thegns always in sight. There were several log piles beside the charcoal kilns and he scrambled on top of one. It was six or seven feet high and gave him a clear view of the battle.
He saw that it would be lost in moments. Somewhere down there, his friends and his brother were fighting for their lives.
He pulled the bow from his shoulder and reached for an arrow.
Time seemed to slow for him and the tumult of battle grew quiet in his ears. He notched the arrow, took a long, deep breath and pulled back the string.
He grew astonishingly calm and saw the arrow hunt for its target, almost as if it had a will of its own.
His one eye peered along the arrow shaft, waiting a few moments longer until it had steadied completely.
Then he released.
The shaft flew swifter than the fastest bird, straight and true. Straight at Leif’s target.
Edmund cried out, staggered and clutched at the arrow drilling into his throat. For a few moments he remained on his feet, pawing at his neck, trying to pull the shaft out.
And then he fell.
A roar of dismay echoed from three thousand English throats.
It was over in a minutes. The peasants who made up the bulk of the English army saw all was lost and fled. The thegns stood firm around their king and were hacked down.
Leif was unmoved by this. All he felt was a grim satisfaction at seeing his arrow slay Edmund in revenge for Aebbe. He clambered down from the wood pile and headed towards Sigurd.
Finally, only the staunch ring of the King’s thegns remained, baying defiance at the Vikings, determined to give their lives in defence of their lord’s dead body.
But Ivar called on his warriors to halt and approached the Englishmen.
‘There’s no need for you to sacrifice yourselves,’ he cried. ‘Your king died bravely; you do not need to emulate him.’
He sheathed his sword Snake and stretched his arms wide. ‘You can go in peace and take the body of your lord with you. You can bury him with only the one wound and send him whole and clean to your Christ-heaven.’
He paused for a few moments before continuing. ‘Or, if you choose, you can die to the last man. And, as you fall, you can ponder how much your king’s body will be defiled and degraded by my men.’
There was a long silence and then the old man, Oswald pushed his way to the front. ‘You pledge this?’ he asked.
‘On my gods,’ Ivar said. ‘Odin and Thor.’
‘Then let his thegns pass with the body of the king and I will stay here to seek terms from you.’
Ivar glanced at his brothers. They shrugged. The victory was theirs; it didn’t matter to them whether Edmund was allowed a decent burial or hacked to shreds.
‘You have my word,’ Ivar said. ‘Lay down your weapons and go in peace.’
Four of the king’s thegns hoisted the corpse onto their shoulders and paced towards the Vikings. His nobles led the way.
Leif tensed as Hwita approached Guthrum, thinking they would acknowledge one another. But neither gave the slightest sign. If Leif did not know better he’d have thought the two had never met. They covered their tracks well.
But then Hwita halted and nodded at Eohric. ‘You have the victory, Guthrum,’ he said. ‘But the girl you sold to the king stays with us. Perhaps I’ll take her now.’
Eohric shook his head a few times as if to give warning to Hwita. But the Englishman merely looked puzzled and continued on his way.
‘Why did he call you by my name?’ Guthrum asked Eohric. ‘And what did he mean about me selling a girl?’
‘I don’t know,’ Eohric said. ‘Perhaps he suffered a blow to the head.’
‘As you will, any moment,’ Sigurd said, hefting his war-hammer as he stepped towards him.
‘What means this?’ Ivar cried.
‘That Englishman said that Aebbe was sold by a Dane,’ Sigurd said. ‘That Dane was Eohric, although he used his brother’s name.’ He took a step still closer to Eohric.
‘Hold fast, Sigurd,’ Ivar called. ‘We need to know the truth behind this.’
Sigurd hesitated. But Leif did not.
He grabbed the hammer from Sigurd’s hand and swung it at Eohric’s head. It caught him on the side, tearing skin and cracking jaw and teeth. He slumped to the ground, groaning in agony.
Ivar stared at Eohric for a moment and then shrugged. ‘I wonder how he got such a grievous wound?’ he said.
‘I’ve no idea,’ Guthrum said. ‘It must have been in the heat of the battle.’ He took a few strides and straddled his brother, who cowered in terror.
‘I doubt even Eohric knows who did this to him,’ Guthrum said, glancing at Leif. ‘In fact, I promise you that he doesn’t.’
Ivar winked at Leif and gestured to him to return the hammer to Sigurd.
‘Who shot the arrow that killed the king?’ Ubbe asked. ‘I didn’t know we had any bowmen.’
The rest of the jarls and captains murmured in agreement.
‘I can tell you,’ Thorvald said. He indicated the bow on Leif’s shoulder. ‘His one eye has made Leif the most skilful of bowmen.’
‘Then it was you who won the battle for us,’ Ivar said, placing both hands on Leif’s shoulder. ‘You shall have rich reward.’
‘The only reward I want is to have Aebbe returned to me.’
Ivar glanced at Oswald.
‘That will be done, Lord Ivar,’ he said. ‘I will send messengers immediately.’
KINGS AND JARLS
Oswald was as good as his word and the very next day Aebbe was returned by the English. Leif swung her in his arms and kissed her passionately.
‘How is Nefi?’ were her first words.
‘He’s well. He’s in Thetford with Nerienda.’
She sighed with relief. ‘I thought I had lost you both.’
‘I would never desert you. I would have brought you back, come what may.’
Tears filled her eyes. He brushed them away gently.
She smiled although he feared she did it to make him feel good rather than through genuine joy. She was too anxious about their son to do more.
‘When can I see Nefi?’ she asked.
‘Ivar is negotiating with Oswald now. He wants the army to stay here until they’ve finished.’
‘But not you, surely? And not me?’
Leif gave a quick nod. ‘He said that we were both to stay here. He insisted.’
Aebbe groaned. ‘He forces me to stay on a battle-field when I should be with my child. Haven’t I suffered enough at men’s hands?’ Then she reddened and took Leif’s hand.
She stood silently for a while, staring at the ground, as if she were looking there for an answer to a problem.
‘I was forced into Edmund’s bed,’ she said at last. ‘I did not choose it. I hated it.’
Leif put a finger to her lips. ‘You don’t need to speak of it,’ he said.
‘But I feel so ashamed.’
‘There’s no need for shame. You did what you had to in order to survive. In order to come back to Nefi and me.’
She forced a smile upon her face but he could sense the chill she still felt in her heart.
Then she squeezed his hand more tightly. ‘I have been thinking about what happens now,’ she said.
Leif looked puzzled. ‘In what way?’
‘I am with child again,’ she began. ‘And we have returned to the land I was born in. It seems to me that, perhaps, these are signs.
‘Leif, we could make a new start here, bring up our family in peace and contentment.’
‘But how? I’m a Dane.’
‘We could live in my village. There’s plenty of land there, with pasture and good woodland. We could build a house, farm the land, fish the lakes, bring up our children.’
Her eyes shone as she spoke. ‘You could even become a thegn.’
‘But I’m a Skald, not a farmer.’
‘Then tell songs and stories. You’re a wealthy man, you don’t have to plough fields and sow crops. Other men could do that for you.’
‘But I wouldn’t be welcome to your people.’
