The Betrothed Sister (30 page)

Gunor rode forward to meet Padar. ‘I have a bad feeling here. There is someone stalking us, more than one I am sure. I have seen weapons glinting up there, just a ghost of a glint in the lowering sun but lots of glints, flashing about the scree. And I sense something.' He pointed towards the furry-hatted guide. ‘I have a bad feeling about that guide too.'

‘Best we are prepared.' Padar swept his hand across his forehead. ‘Warn the men we may have to fight. Distribute arms. You, Gunor, stay close to the wagon. Give Gudrun bows from the packs and give her as many arrows as you can. She can pass them forward should we have to stop and make a shield wall between the wagon and them.'

Padar looked behind from the riverbank to the lower boulders that marked the end of the track. There was maybe enough room for the pack animals there if they stopped now. They could have some advantage of a widened battle ground if their assailants' mounts swept down from above.
It depended on how many there were
. ‘We may have to make a stand and shoot up at them. They have horses. Maybe we can fire arrows at their mounts' forelegs as they descend, if they
do
come down. They may hope we will ride further into a narrower place before they attack. They might not expect us to just stop and fight if we are outnumbered.' He looked along to where the guide was riding ahead as if there were no danger. ‘There is no ford anywhere near either. And that guide is useless.'

He leaned across Gunor to Gudrun, whose face had drained of colour. She had paled with fear. ‘Do not fear, lady wife, guard the bows Gunor gives you. Swords too, though I had hoped to sell those Frankish bastard swords, not put them to use first.' He circled his horse closer to the wagon, leaned down and kissed Gudrun's head. ‘I shall not allow harm to come to us. You and I shall share a soft loving bed this night.' He shaded his forehead as he surveyed the river. ‘On the Rus side.'

‘I hope you are right,' Gudrun replied, concern creeping into her voice.

Padar rode further down the line to warn his mercenaries and organise the distribution of weaponry. They stopped briefly, organised a chain and unpacked spare bows and arrows. Finally he untied two bundles of precious Frankish swords. Soon, most of their spare weapons had been stowed in the back of the long wagon.

When Padar returned to her, Gudrun noted that this time he had his bow slung across his breast. His sword, Gabriel, hung from his sword belt in its leather scabbard. It was small comfort. They both glanced up. At the same moment they saw a banner with a crow depicted on it, black on crimson, rise above boulders on the hillside. Of one accord their mercenaries looked towards it too and turning in their saddles set their bows. An arrow streaked from the outcrop of rocks and thunked into the wagon's cover.

The guide rode back to the wagon. He pulled his horse up short. ‘Master, they will want your salt. That is all.'

‘Go to hell with that,' Padar said to the guide and shouted up to the rocks, ‘Show yourselves. We wish you no harm. You go on your way. We go ours. We have nothing of worth. We are pilgrims travelling to the Church of St Sophia in Kiev.' He turned to the guide again. ‘Translate that if you can.' The guide cupped his hands around his mouth and called up in a Slavic tongue.

An answer echoed down the mountainside. The guide repeated, ‘They do not believe you. They want your salt.'

‘How do they know we have salt?' Padar scrutinised the guide's face. ‘How could they know that?'

Lette stuck her head through the wagon's opening, looked up at Padar and said, ‘They are slavers and thieves, that is why. The brigands that live in clans in these mountains trade with the Steppe Khans. They will take our goods and kill us all. They raid villages. Don't believe them or him. He is one of them.' She pointed at the guide. The guide kicked his horse towards the wagon and raised his hand. Padar drew Gabrielle from his scabbard, swiped the guide's hand away and hit the rump of his horse with the flat of his sword. ‘Be off. Get up front.'

When the guide cantered off, his face thunderous, Padar said to Lette, ‘They will not take our goods, nor will they take us. Not today,' Padar said firmly, his voice as grim as the banner that was winding its way down towards them.

Lette's words petrified Gudrun. When the mountain men appeared on the scree brandishing their crow banner, Gudrun stared at them with grim fascination as well as terror. Their ponies were scrawny, the sort that could scramble up rock walls like goats. They were dressed in animal skins and just a little chain mail. Their metal helmets had elk horns protruding from them and they carried bows and arrow quivers. A cold hand clutched at her heart and she immediately reached back for Padar's second bow.

Padar shouted to his guards and the boys seated on the mules, ‘Off the horses and keep them hobbled together close to the wagon. We stop here.' He looked ahead for the guide but the traitor had melted away. He called along the line, ‘Get the boys to deal with the horses. Close up ranks to give them protection.' The boys hobbled packhorses and stallions and roped them together and sent them between the wagon and the water. They unhitched the wagon mules in case they bolted. It was all done within moments.

This action came not a moment too soon. Facing the hillside, a dozen Danes ran in front of the wagon and immediately drew into formation, shields locking to make a protective shield wall. They had spears and axes.

Gudrun felt sweat trickle between her shoulderblades. Padar rode over to them again and said to Bryn, ‘Boy, you will become a man this day. Protect the women. Stay in front of them. If need be, get them under the wagon.' Padar pulled a short sword from his belt and gave it to the boy. ‘Take this but use a bow first if you can.'

Not waiting for a reply from the boy he ordered the rest of his mercenaries to form a second shield wall under Gunor's command. Now there was a tortoise of warriors, shields locked, three men deep, protecting the wagon and a huddle of pack animals roped together on the river bank.

Padar's strategy had not come too soon. The clatter of around two dozen armed men descending down the scree grew louder and closer, the noise growing thunderous as they reached the lower slope. Gudrun looked towards the river. Their pack animals were twitching beyond the wagon. As the descending noise of the horsemen grew greater, the horses began neighing. From the corner of her eye, she saw that it was all the lads could do to contain them. If an arrow flew over the wagon and caught one, the rest might try to bolt into the thunderous river. The two barking dogs bolted to hide underneath the wagon. Gudrun sent a prayer to the Virgin.

She glanced back trying to see Lette and her baby. ‘Hide the cradle behind those bolts of cloth,' she called to her servant, trying to keep her voice firm, trying hard not to betray her terror, and she knew well from her experience after the Great Battle of 1066 that terror was a dangerous thing that would grip you like the plague if it was not reined in. She must retain her wits if they were to have a chance of survival.

A host of arrows now flew towards them. Every other man in the shield wall lifted his shield higher to deflect the onslaught. Those at the back hurled spears. Gudrun set an arrow into her bow ready to fire over the shield wall. She rose up above the boy at her side. She pulled back the string and allowed her arrow to fly. It soared over the top of the shield wall, over Padar whom she knew was, by now, in the thick of it. Her arrow soared straight and flew true into the face of one of the bandit leaders, a man with a helmet that had elk horns. She had aimed between his nose piece and the helmet's side guards, and it was an aim that was so true that her arrow gripped his face just below his eyes. He sat still. Slowly, very slowly he swayed to one side. Next he was dropping off his horse and she saw another chance. Setting her arrow into her bow again, she fired towards the horse. The horse went down, falling on top of its rider. A cheer went up from the tightly massed guard in their shield wall.

The brigands leapt off their horses and with a slap on their rumps sent their animals up the track with three of their servants to guard them. These guards drew the animals away from a volley of arrow fire that came from two Danes positioned at the flanks of the shield wall.

Both sides were now on foot and the battle began in earnest. The bandits attempted to push into the shield wall but every time they drew back, one of the Danes threw a spear at one of the assailants. Normally a shield wall would never open but Padar considered it necessary as long as his warriors were quick. He passed the word to Gunor who commanded the front line. Only every other man could leave the shield wall and only one at a time and only when Gunor ordered. The men were quick, the shield wall snapping open, closing over again just another crack to allow a Danish warrior to race back within its links. Two of their Danes fell in that first sortie. They missed the return opening in the shield wall.

Gudrun did not rise to shoot again. Bryn seized their bow, set an arrow and fired. She could not see where his arrow had landed. A heart-beat later, an arrow was returned. It soared above the shield wall, arched high and as if descending from the sky far above, fell and hit its mark. It caught Bryn on the shoulder. Bryn screamed and fell, almost capsizing the wagon. The wagon shook precariously. Gudrun could not hold on. She found herself falling out into the midst of the restless mounts that were neighing and jumping about on the river bank beyond the wagon. Stunned by her fall, avoiding their mules' kicks, she managed to crawl away from their hoofs and beneath the creaking wagon to where the dogs were cowering. She saw the running legs of the boys who were moving sacks of salt and alum under the wagon.

Gudrun needed to get into the wagon again but she had no strength. All around her there was deafening sound: the horses neighing and stamping, the boys shouting as they tried to calm them, the hammering of swords on shields followed by orders barked by Padar as his men moved forward as a mass. The brief sorties out from the shield wall were accompanied by the jeers and shouts of the enemy. And as all was amplified by the mountain range, the great clamour reverberated back as if it were a huge battle and not a skirmish. Would it soon be over? Were they going to die here? They would never see Kiev.

From the shelter of the wagon wheel, Gudrun tried to concentrate on the prancing horse legs and the moving legs of the Danes in front of her as they raced forwards and backwards like a wave breaking and then retreating on the shore.
She must try to climb back onto the wagon seat.
She then heard Lette. She was saying something like, ‘Bite down, I must get the arrow out. Be still. Help me.' And above the shouts and roars of battle, Gudrun heard Edith's piercing cries. She had to get to Edith.

Another sack thumped down close to her. The two dogs sheltering below the wagon began to growl. She saw a boy fall as he tried to get back down the bank to the horses. She saw a second boy go down as he came to help his companion. Then, she saw the boots and a bearskin mantle belonging to a brigand flit past her hiding place. He must have sneaked around the shield wall.

She tried to grasp the wagon wheel, intending to pull herself up into the wagon, to get to the bow and shoot down at the bear-man who had attacked the boys, but she had banged her right side when she had fallen and any movement was painful.
I won't be shooting that bow again.
She gritted her teeth and hauled herself up until she was leaning against the wheel. This left her exposed. She felt for the seax in her belt. Withdrawing it she peered around the wagon and seeing the way clear she tried to climb onto the seat again.

She paused to catch her breath. At a glance she could see that the bastards meant to break the Danes' shield wall and force Padar's warriors into hand-to-hand combat. Her momentary delayed climb to safety was deadly. She felt a grip on her shoulder. Twisting to one side, she found herself looking at one of their attackers who looked back at her from under his horned helmet with cold black eyes. It was the bear-man. He growled incomprehensibly and seized her. With a knife in her side and a huge hand covering her mouth, he gripped her tightly and forced her back behind the horses. She bit down hard on his hand. She could taste blood. He swiped at her face with his free hand, growled a curse again and held her so tightly that she could not move at all.

Padar ducked in and out from the interlocked shields. He was small and he was fast. There had been no time to pull out his chain mail. He ran to the shield wall's front line, positioning himself on its left. He whispered a prayer to the Lady Mary, not that he was religious, and said a few words to the fates, the Norse Norns, not that he really believed in them either. But, when a man is fighting for his pack's survival, and, even more importantly, that of his own family, any help is worth a call upon.

He commanded the left flank. Gunor commanded the centre and another daring Dane, aptly called Beowulf, led the right. The wall had been, as the skirmish opened, three men deep and nine men long curving round on the flanks to protect their horses, the salt packs and importantly the long wagon with his wife, child and their maid. They were not three men deep now. Padar ordered his men to lock the shields and hold fast, to push forward as one. The ground was slippery with blood and guts and littered with dying and wounded. The horse Gudrun had shot with her arrow had stopped writhing and snorting. A brigand had put it out of its agony by slitting its throat but the battle raged around it. The man pinned beneath the animal and its blood added to the growing viscous mass of guts and fluid they felt underfoot.

The stench of the dying, the acrid smell of blood, and the unrelenting noise, the screams, the javelins thrusting into their shield wall and the clanging of seaxes against shields was overpowering. Twilight was falling. Padar knew that the fight must be over before the night slipped in, making their shield wall even more difficult to hold, and the possibility of enemy reinforcements tearing down the hillside, swooping in, destroying them all. They had been fighting for more than a notch of the hour candle already and these barbarians were more than a match for his men. Their curving swords and speed could win the next hour for the enemy – unless they could outwit the bastards.