Odin's Game

by Tim Hodkinson

  Three down, Einar thought as he skidded to a halt once again. There was now blood on the ice that made it even more slick. The remaining four warriors began withdrawing to the stability of the river bank only to run into the rest of the Wolf Coats who now stood at the top. The height and numbers advantages meant the fight was over in moments and all of Thorfinn’s warriors fell dead, their bodies sliding down onto the frozen river.

  Einar sheathed his sword, retrieved the axe and scrambled up the bank. Hrolf and the rest of the jarl’s men were charging across the field on the other side of the farmstead. It looked like there were an awful lot of them.

  ‘Form a Skjaldborg!’ Ulrich ordered. ‘In front of the longhouse.’

  The Wolf Coats ran to form up before the door at the gable end of Unn’s longhouse. With a thump of linden wood on linden wood their shields locked together as one, creating the shield fortress. Their formation was a semicircle rather than a straight line, so as to prevent the enemy attacking their flanks. They were counting that having the longhouse at their backs would stop any attack from behind. As before, Einar and Affreca stood behind the Wolf Coats, Einar ready to hack at attackers over the shields and Affreca with her bow ready to shoot.

  Hrolf’s warriors, who were perhaps thirty paces away, halted their charge on seeing the unexpected sight of armed warriors formed up before Unn’s longhouse. An inarticulate shout of rage and frustration came from Hrolf who stood in their midst. His fist was bunched and he glared straight at Einar.

  Affreca raised her bow.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ Hrolf yelled at his men. ‘There’s only a few of them! Kill them. Kill them all!’

  The warriors charged. The Wolf Coats braced for impact, each man standing side-on behind his shield, lead leg half crouched, back leg straight for maximum leverage, foot digging into the newly fallen snow to find purchase on the earth beneath.

  Affreca swore. Hrolf had disappeared amid the throng of his men.

  The door of the longhouse banged open. Einar glanced over his shoulder. Standing on the threshold, looking around in wonder and indignation, was Unn. Despite the helmet and armour, she recognised Einar straight away. Her mouth fell open even further and she raised a hand to it.

  ‘Mother!’ Einar shouted. He wanted to run to her and embrace her but Hrolf’s men were pounding ever closer. ‘These men are here to kill you. Take the rest of the servants and run. Get away. We’ll hold them while you go.’

  For a moment Unn hesitated, looking from Einar to the advancing warriors and back. She shook her head.

  ‘Go!’ Einar yelled. ‘If not for me then for the sake of the servants. We don’t all need to die.’

  Unn nodded, though her eyes looked hollow as she turned to dash back inside. Einar hoped she was going to gather the rest of the household.

  Then Hrolf’s men ploughed into the shield wall.

  Fifty-Five

  With an almighty crash the shields smashed against each other. Some of Hrolf’s men were faster than the others so they did not all arrive at once. Einar also noticed that nearly all of them had managed to overtake Hrolf in the charge across the fields. He was now nowhere to be seen.

  The Wolf Coats held firm. Men spat curses and threats at each other from behind their shields. Swords and spear points stabbed over and around the shield edges, seeking flesh and bone. Einar could see the angry eyes of the enemy beyond the backs of the Wolf Coats’ shields. Men screamed abuse, spit flying, their blades flashing. As soon as any of them tried to prod a spear through the shield wall Einar smashed the shaft with his axe. The enemy heaved against the Wolf Coats shields, trying to force them backwards or to split the formation somehow.

  Affreca loosed her bow. At such short range the man on the other side of the shield wall had no hope of avoiding it. He went down, the arrow transfixing his head through the eye hole in his helmet.

  There was a crash of the door behind Einar and he glanced round again to see his mother, shepherding the servants out of the longhouse. She looked at him again and he could tell there were tears in her eyes. He nodded to her, doing his best to smile but his jaw felt tight and he only managed a grimace. She nodded too then she and the thralls scurried off towards the hillside behind the farm.

  One less thing to worry about, Einar thought. At least she got away. He hoped with all his heart she would find safety somewhere. Otherwise this would all have been for nothing.

  Affreca brought two more running men down before they could join the throng. Einar smashed his axe down on the head of a warrior in front of Ulrich’s shield and the man dropped to the ground, only to be replaced by another an instant later.

  More and more men piled into the shields. The Wolf Coats locked their back legs. The formation rippled under the impacts. They all knew that if it broke they were dead men but how long could so few hold out against so many? Einar saw Atli and Sigurd’s back feet begin to slip a little in the snow, sliding backwards and ploughing a trough into the earth beneath.

  ‘Hold!’ Ulrich screamed, ‘Hold!’ His voice was high pitched and sounded manic above the clash of weapons, shouted curses and the cries of the wounded.

  Einar saw the Wolf Coats bunch their shoulders as they gritted their teeth and redoubled their efforts to keep their shield wall formed. They were making good account of themselves. He counted eleven casualties, either dead or wounded on the other side to no loss of their own.

  Skar was like a tower in the middle of the Skjaldborg, smashing his sword down on top of enemies directly in front and to the left and right. His mighty blows, if they did not cause wounds, smashed helmets and shattered shields. Ulrich was more precise, picking his targets with care then striking with lethal precision. Sigurd and Atli continued to hack and slash, though their feet kept inching backwards. Hallgrimr, Kari, Bodvar, Ragnar and Starkad held firm, parrying the blows of Hrolf’s men and dealing wounds when they got the opportunity. Affreca continued to shoot arrows, trying now to send them over the heads of those already in the fray, at the shield wall, to try to stop others joining.

  There were to many for just her to hold back. The rest of the enemy joined the crush at the shield wall. While the length of it was narrow, on their side it was three or sometimes four men deep. Any man not at the front simply took to pushing the man before him.

  Einar could see that their defence was futile. The Wolf Coats could not kill the enemy before them fast enough nor hold back the pressure of the sheer weight of numbers shoving against them. Their line began to move back. They were not retreating. Their legs remained locked in position, but they were being physically shoved backwards. The formation began to deform.

  Einar felt a surge of panic in his stomach. If one man lost his footing the whole defensive formation would shatter and the end for them would come very fast in a flurry of blades.

  ‘On my command,’ Ulrich yelled above the throng. ‘Run for the longhouse. Break!’

  Even as the words came from his mouth, the Wolf Coats dissolved the shield wall. With lightning speed they unlocked their legs and spun round, already sprinting in the opposite direction. In an instant their enemies on the other side found themselves pushing against nothing but air. Most of their first rank fell forwards flat on their faces and the second rank fell over them.

  Einar raced for the door of his mother’s longhouse. It was mere paces away but it felt like leagues. He could hear his heart pounding, his breath rasping in and out as his legs pumped. Then he was inside in the cool darkness and turning to defend the doorway. Affreca piled through next, then Skar sprawled into the longhouse, falling over on his way in. With surprising dexterity for such a large man, he rolled and was back on his feet in a moment, joining Einar at the door.

  It did not look good for the others. Einar could see them running towards him, Ulrich first, then the others coming behind, all running as hard as they could. Just behind them, was a wave of enemy, rushing forwards, screaming, to envelope them.

  Ragnar was the furthe
st away. Einar saw one of the pursuers behind him raise his spear. He screamed a warning but it was lost in the cacophony. He saw the look of surprise on Ragnar’s face as the spear struck him in the back. The Wolf Coat arched his chest forwards and Einar saw the front of his mail shirt bulge as the spear point erupted from his flesh beneath. Dismay flooded Einar’s heart as Ragnar let out a cry of pain.

  The Wolf Coat gnashed his teeth, blood already frothing from his mouth. To Einar’s surprise instead of falling he stopped running. Arms spread wide he threw his head back and bellowed at the sky. Then he spun around to face his attacker head on. As he went Einar saw the glaring look in his eyes and the barred teeth; he knew that the Rage had taken Ragnar. The Wolf Coat slashed down with his sword, a mighty blow that severed the arm of the man who had speared him. The man dropped to his knees and Ragnar beheaded him with one mighty swipe. As blood fountained from the severed neck, Ragnar planted his feet shoulder-width apart, sword in one hand, shield in the other, the spear still transfixing his body, then bent forward and roared defiance and anger at Hrolf’s men.

  The sight was awe inspiring. Einar could tell because the onrushing enemies actually paused, frozen in shock.

  It was enough to allow the rest of the Wolf Coats to make it to the longhouse. Ulrich and the others piled through the door then all turned to defend the entrance.

  Ragnar shouted again and rushed forwards. Whatever spell his Rage had cast broke at that moment and Hrolf’s men also resumed their attack. Ragnar struck down one, knocked the next backwards with his shield, cut another down then was overwhelmed by the sheer numbers against him. He disappeared beneath the onrushing tide of steel and muscle.

  Affreca stood in the doorway. She loosed one arrow, then another, then made it three before the mob of warriors crashed against the longhouse. At the last possible moment she jumped out of the way, then they slammed the great oak door shut, right in the faces of their enemies.

  As the others put their shoulders to the door to hold it shut, Skar hefted a big oak beam up from the floor. With determined concentration, he slid it between the iron bands in the back of door so it was secured closed.

  The rush of warriors outside crashed against the door. It bucked and rattled, but it held, the stout beam making sure the door did not open. They continued to pound and kick at the door but it did not budge. Outside the enemy continued to yell, shout and scream, but in the relative quiet of the longhouse, all that could be heard for a few moments was panting as men tried to get their breaths back.

  ‘Not bad workmanship,’ Skar commented, patting the beam. ‘Considering that we’re in Iceland.’

  ‘At least it will hold them for a while,’ Ulrich said.

  Atli spat into the straw on the floor. ‘What good will that do us? We’re trapped in here like rats.’

  Fifty-Six

  ‘Windows!’ Ulrich shouted. He did not need to say any more. The longhouse had low, wooden walls while the turf and thatch roof was supported by stout beams above. There were six window-slits fitted with shutters, under the beams that carried the roof. A Wolf Coat ran to each one, ready for any attack that might come through it.

  ‘Is there another door?’ Ulrich said to Einar.

  Einar shook his head.

  Skar spotted two large barrels near the door and stalked over to them. He thumped down on the lid of one, swivelling it open. A broad grin split the big man’s face as he plunged his head into the barrel. He pulled it back, amber liquid streaming from his hair and beard.

  ‘Ale,’ he gasped, licking his lips. ‘At least we won’t die thirsty, lads.’

  The others all smiled but kept their watch on the door and the windows. The longhouse was gloomy with all the windows shuttered and door shut. As they waited in the dark interior, they could hear men moving around the building, sometimes hitting a shutter, sometimes testing a part of the wall to see if it would give, anything to try to gain entry to the building.

  ‘What are we going to do, Ulrich?’ Atli demanded. ‘You got us into this mess. How do we get out?’

  ‘I don’t know, yet,’ Ulrich said, avoiding Atli’s gaze.

  ‘That’s because there is no way out!’ Atli shouted. ‘Admit it. You have no plan.’

  Ulrich sighed. ‘I never meant things to get this far,’ he said. ‘But now blood has been spilled. The game is set. We have to play to the end.’

  Atli shook his head and walked away to the ale barrel. He took the long wooden ladle and slurped down a mouthful.

  ‘They’re up to something,’ Affreca’s voice floated down from above. Everyone looked up and saw she had mounted a ladder that lay against the gable wall the door was in. The ladder was supposed to lead to a small loft where Einar’s mother slept but Affreca had moved it so she could look out through the ‘Wind’s eye’, the hole in the gable wall near the apex of the roof designed to help disperse the smoke from the fire inside the longhouse.

  Ulrich and Skar ran to the nearest shuttered window and carefully opened it a fraction so they could see outside.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Einar asked.

  ‘Well your dear brother, good old Hrolf,’ Ulrich said, ‘seems to be giving orders to his men.’

  ‘He’s my half-brother, not my brother,’ Einar said, shooting a nervous glance in the direction of Affreca. Then he marvelled at why, even in this extreme situation he would be bothered as to why she might care or take offence.

  Ulrich smiled but did not reply. Instead he kept watching. ‘Hrolf likes giving orders,’ he observed. ‘Look at his face. The way he swaggers about. His chest looks fit to burst. Oh he’s loving this.’

  ‘They’ve started gathering long grass,’ Affreca reported from above. ‘Some of them have gone to the field and are cutting gorse. Hrolf’s pointing at a patch of chickweed near one of the farm buildings. You can guess what it’s all for.’

  ‘Kindling,’ Skar said. ‘They mean to smoke us out.’

  ‘Or burn us in here,’ Affreca replied.

  A hush fell on the longhouse. They all exchanged glances. The prospect of dying in a fire was horrifying. The choking smoke and the pain of the burning flames would be unimaginable. Einar realised that for the Wolf Coats the thought of being stuck, dying in a burning building, unable to strike back at the enemies who were the cause of it, would be intolerable.

  ‘We should fight our way out.’ Bodvar said.

  ‘There’s too many of them,’ Atli said. ‘It would be suicide.’

  ‘Well I’m not dying like a coward, hiding in here,’ Bodvar said. ‘Maybe I can take a few of them with me.’

  ‘Wait,’ Einar said. ‘I have an idea.’

  Fifty-Seven

  ‘Pile them as near the door as you can get,’ Hrolf directed his men as they pulled gorse from nearby hedges and grabbed handfuls of weeds, straw and other burnable material from the surrounding fields. ‘And someone get a fire going,’ he went on.

  Hrolf shot a sideways glance at Bjorn. He was half-expecting disapproval. The jarl’s champion was lethal in combat but also a bit of a traditionalist in many ways. Burning men inside a building was eminently practical, but ultimately the coward’s way of getting the job done. Bjorn, however, remained apparently unmoved. Hrolf supposed that having seen the Wolf Coats fighting, like himself he had little desire to experience another go on the wrong end of it simply to prove his own manliness.

  ‘It makes sense, my lord,’ Bjorn said with a shrug. ‘Why lose more men trying to assault the longhouse? The fire will do our work for us. No more of us need risk life or limb.’

  Hrolf nodded, pleased that Bjorn was not as stupid as he were ugly.

  ‘I’m sure the jarl doesn’t care who – or what – kills Einar or Unn, as long as they’re dead,’ Bjorn went on.

  Hrolf’s glance this time was a sharp one. What indeed would his father say?

  ‘Go and search the outhouses,’ he barked. ‘There’s bound to be dry straw somewhere. It’ll burn better than this damp grass.’

>   ‘Hrolf?’ a voice came from inside the longhouse.

  Hrolf narrowed his eyes. The voice was Einar’s. He was shouting from one of the windows whose shutters had been opened slightly.

  ‘Hrolf?’ Einar called again. ‘I have a proposal to make. Talk to me, brother.’

  Hrolf gnashed his teeth and strode closer to the longhouse. He stopped before he got too close, though. He had seen how deadly the Irish bitch was with her bow.

  ‘I am not your brother,’ he shouted back. ‘You’re just another one of my father’s bastards. You’re not worthy enough to be called my brother.’

  ‘Very well, half-brother, then,’ Einar called back. Hrolf did not miss the mocking tone in the Icelander’s voice. He gritted his teeth and felt the blood boiling within him.

  ‘There’s been enough killing,’ Einar shouted from the longhouse. ‘Let’s settle this between us.’

  Hrolf shook his head. ‘Father wants you dead. And that bitch who spawned you. There is nothing to discuss.’

  ‘You’ll lose more men trying to set this place on fire,’ Einar called. Hrolf noted the concerned glances some of his warriors sent in his direction. ‘I promise you that. It doesn’t need to be this way.’

  ‘What do you want?’ Hrolf asked.

  ‘I claim the right of Holmgang,’ Einar shouted. ‘This quarrel is between us. You and I. It is not really the others’ fight. We will fight a duel. Just the two of us, bound by the rules of Holmgang. If I win, we all go free.’

  ‘And if I win?’ Hrolf said.

  ‘If you win then I’ll be dead and our quarrel finished,’ Einar replied. ‘I want you to promise that Ulrich’s Wolf Coat company will go free. You have no real quarrel with them. It’s just circumstance that you are now fighting them.’

  ‘And what about Affreca?’ Hrolf said, trying his best to sound as disinterested as he could.