Warriors of Ethandun (17 page)

‘Shhh! If I can hear them, they may be able to hear us. I think they were looking for a farmhouse. Is there somewhere near here?'

Aethelnoth nodded. ‘A dawn raid would be their style, but we are still a day from Cippenham. They must be running low on supplies to come so far out.' He paused as if to listen, then whispered, ‘Are you sure you have not imagined it? I still can't hear a thing.'

Dan did not have time to argue about what he knew he'd heard. ‘Is this Aenglisc land?'

He could not see Aethelnoth's expression but by the tone of his voice Dan could tell he found that a very odd question.

‘It is all our land, or should be. We'll get it back too.' The last was as much a threat as a promise.

‘We should go and protect the people at the farmhouse,' Dan said with a sinking heart. He was not sure he could prevent himself from turning into the Bear Sark. ‘I think the two men I heard might have been scouts for some larger group.' Dan could not say why he thought that, but it was perhaps safer to assume that they would be fighting more than two men. His instincts were usually
reliable. ‘We must ride hard and get there in time to warn the people of the farmhouse. The two Danes I heard were on foot – with any luck the others won't be mounted either.'

Aethelnoth did not move.

‘What are you waiting for?'

‘I didn't hear anything. How do I know I can trust you?'

‘Of course you can trust me. I could have killed you at any time if I'd a mind to. What is your problem?'

‘The Dane who killed my wife was unusually tall – Gunnarr they called him. He wore a helm so I could not see the colour of his hair, but he fought with a sword. Not many Danes have swords, and he was handy with it too …'

Dan paused a moment to take this in. Aethelnoth was not more than twenty and might have been even younger, but men married young through the Veil.

‘I'm sorry,' Dan said. ‘I didn't know that you had lost your wife. All I can say is that it was not me who killed her …' He wanted to tell Aethelnoth that he came from far away and had arrived in Aethelnoth's world long after his wife was killed, but there was no way of explaining things so that they would have made any sense to the Aenglisc man. ‘Please, Aethelnoth. Show me the way to the farm or other men's wives will die. We are their only hope.'

Aethelnoth's hesitation showed in his body language. Dan willed him to agree.

‘There is a way through the forest. We ought to be able to find it now that the fog is lifting.'

Dan had barely registered the gradual dispersal of the fog. Suddenly he could see Aethelnoth's face clearly. He looked tired and careworn in the wintry light. His was a sad face and Dan had not noticed that before. There was no time for him to empathise with the older man. ‘Let's go!' Dan said. ‘Ride as quickly as you can.'

He manoeuvred his mount into position behind his companion and they set off at a brisk canter. Dan rode low keeping his head tucked over his mount's neck, to stay clear of low-hanging branches.

The farm lay in a hollow some way from the treeline. The remnants of the morning mist still veiled the buildings from view, but there didn't appear to be any defences. They were surrounded on all sides by fields which sloped gently downwards and a shallow stream ran nearby. Dan could hear it bubbling away. In other circumstances it might have been an idyllic spot; in these circumstances its geography was a problem. It was not easily defensible.

The farm comprised a long low hall and several smaller buildings nearby. Dan's sharp eyes spotted at least six people working in and around the yard.

‘Is there no one close by who might come to help?' he asked Aethelnoth. He feared for the people in the yard, lost in their daily labours, unaware of the danger that stalked them.

Aethelnoth shook his head. ‘The ealdorman is miles away – I thought he had sided with the Danes, which ought to have made his people safe from their marauding.' His tone was flat, resigned even. ‘The nearest village is a good walk from here.'

‘What if you were to ride – surely the nearest estate or village would have horses and you could bring men back with you?' Dan said urgently.

‘I'm not leaving. Besides, you'll find that not many men have much stomach for fighting Danes these days.' He sounded bitter. ‘Ealdorman Wulfhere of Wiltshire turned the witan against Aelfred and made a deal with Guthrum. They are on the same side and he will turn a blind eye to any small-scale pillaging of his land in return for his life and a chance of Viking gold. Our army has dispersed – there must be thousands of Vikings at Cippenham. The ealdorman will not raise a force against them.'

There wasn't time to do more than warn the people on the farm. Dan wondered if the few extra minutes he could buy them with his warning would be of any use at all. Perhaps it would be better to be slaughtered where they were than have time to fear. No. He told himself there might be time enough to hide the children at least.

‘Come on!' Dan urged his horse forward and set off at a gallop across the field to the farm.

The first person he came to was a woman of about thirty or so. She ran from him, then tried to fend him off with a broom – the only weapon she had to hand.

‘Hide the children! Arm yourselves! The Vikings are coming!' Dan shouted from behind a protective arm. She needed no further warning but screamed to the others and scooped up her children in a strong embrace and sprinted for the house as fast as her burden and long skirts permitted.

The others ran towards Dan, gathering up whatever
they could – farm implements, bill hooks and axes. Though they each wore a seax at their belt, those knives were too short to be much use except at very close quarters. A young boy of about fourteen – old enough to count himself a man – had a slingshot. By the time Dan saw Aethelnoth canter into view, he had a good idea of the force they had to work with.

Already they could hear the enemy approaching. The men were noisy, far noisier than an approaching army – more like a wild gang of thugs, pirates and hooligans. The sound of their war cries turned his blood to ice. He could not fight madmen when he himself was sane. Dan had guessed right; the men he'd heard talking earlier had been in the vanguard of a larger force. The Danes sounded drunk, out of control. Dan thought that perhaps a man had to be one or the other to attack unarmed farmers in their homes.

‘What can we do?' The man who seemed to be the thegn sounded desperate and looked to Dan for leadership. There was so little time.

‘We would stand more chance if we could cut off their attack from three directions so we could funnel them through one place. Have you anything you could burn? If you could make a wall of flame, they'd have to come at us through the way we choose.'

The thegn was off shouting orders to his workers. He, at least, had a sword and helm, which he grabbed as he ran. There wasn't really time to organise such a defence, but it was better to do something rather than wait for the source of the noise to emerge from out of the trees. Dan's
heart sank when he saw the determined face of the boy, clutching his slingshot.

‘Are you any good with that?' Dan asked, keeping his voice matter-of-fact.

The boy nodded, too frightened even for bravado.

‘Grab stones and set yourself up on the roof. Once you've used all your stones, if we do not have victory, run – or better still ride.' Dan slid down from his horse and handed the boy the bridle. ‘You must go and warn the next farm of what is coming.'

The boy nodded again, his face corpse-pale.

Dan patted his shoulder. ‘Only you can do this. You must not let your family down. Do what you can with the sling, then do everything you have to stay alive. Take the horse and ride – do you understand?'

‘You can rely on me, Sire,' the boy said in a voice that was not yet properly broken. When he was sane, Dan hated war.

He did not regret giving away his mount. There were many advantages to being on horseback against infantry, but though Bright Killer was a wonderful sword it was not a cavalry sword, and his horse was not up to the task of riding in close to armed men and cutting them down. He was better off relying on his own two legs and his madness. He knew, with a mixture of dread and excitement, that there was no possibility of doing this sane. He was not sure if it could be done at all.

Aethelnoth was about to dismount, to take his place beside Dan, but Dan stopped him. Aethelnoth was used to fighting with a spear and his horse seemed better suited to
close-quarters fighting. He could perhaps make use of the power that came from a charging horse and a steady hand.

‘You and I will try to take as many down as we can before they come into the yard,' Dan said to him. ‘Do you think you can fight mounted?'

‘I could wish for a shield wall to fight behind, but I will try to make do,' Aethelnoth answered. He looked slightly sick too. No one could be expected to survive this encounter.

Dan took a few seconds to speak to the farm workers. They were clearly wondering if it would be safer to run.

‘Run if you want,' Dan said, ‘but it may be better to die fighting. If I thought running would help, I'd be leading you.' That wasn't true, of course; his blood was already up and his conscious control was already slipping away. He called Braveheart to his side.

Nobody ran, but the woman blessed herself and gripped her husband's hand.

‘You have to kill them,' she said. ‘We have to keep them from the children.'

The thegn had fought before, that was clear in his stance, but the woman had only a hoe and a short seax. Dan knew by the look in her eyes that she was not going to let anyone near her children while she had breath in her. Unfortunately he did not think she'd have any breath for very long.

‘Light the fires,' he shouted and one of the men ran to the house to grab a burning brand from the hearth and set fire to the dry hay and oil that they had strewn hastily around. Dan knew it would do little good. It took more
than a few seconds' preparation to mount a defence. The farmer and his workers knew it was hopeless too. Dan could see it on their faces – the resignation and the fear. He looked up towards the trees and saw the enemy screaming, barking like a pack of wild dogs, charging towards them.

The first Vikings to emerge from the trees were both huge men, naked above the waist but for their badly cured wolfskin cloaks. The wolf's head each wore formed a kind of hood over their heads, so that they looked like pantomime creatures – or they might have done had not the men themselves been as wild and ferocious as beasts. The woman standing behind Dan let out a muted sob. Aethelnoth groaned.

‘What is it?' Dan asked, hanging on to his sanity by a thread. His heart was pumping so hard and his whole body pulsed with such energy that he thought he might burst. His hand on Braveheart's head was shaking and it was not with nerves.

‘They are berserkers – like you,' Aethelnoth said.

Something inside Dan thrilled at the prospect of meeting a worthy enemy. He hated himself for the thought. He had a farm to protect and were he to fail, people would die, and yet he relished the prospect of a good fight.

The two half-naked men were followed by five or six
other warriors kitted out in normal fighting clothes. To Dan's practised eye they looked to be professional soldiers, properly equipped. They hung well back from the two berserkers, who were slavering at the mouth and baying like wolves.

Dan thought that they looked completely insane with their long unkempt hair almost covering their faces. They were both unnaturally large men, almost as tall as Dan himself but bulky where he, in spite of his hours in the gym, still had the muscled slenderness of a youth. He did not know if he could keep the farmer and his family alive – not against madmen. He thought about Rhonwen's claim that he himself had magic that he had not yet discovered and hoped she was right. It was not looking good.

No one in the courtyard moved a muscle or made a sound; they seemed rooted to the spot by fear and horror. Dan roused himself and gave a loud cry. ‘Get ready!' He turned to the boy on the roof and yelled, ‘Hit them between the eyes!' He sounded as encouraging as he could, but he had seen that all but the berserkers wore helms and the boy's chance of doing any damage with a sling was minuscule. Still, every man needed hope and confidence before a battle and Dan did what he could to inspire it.

Braveheart was already snarling at his side, his growling slightly less bestial than the cries of the berserkers. Aethelnoth gripped his spear. He was breathing heavily in the rasping rapid rhythm of panic.

‘It's fine,' Dan said, while he could still speak. ‘They are only men.'

The pressure on him to run and kill was building. He wanted the fight very badly and it was getting harder to think of anything else. Almost without knowing what he was doing he ripped off his tunic to reveal his own naked torso – somewhat less impressive than that of his enemies – then squatted down on the ground to cover himself with mud. He took off his shoes too so that he could feel the ground beneath his feet, feel the power in the earth. Ursula had fed off the power of the land in Macsen's world – Dan hoped he could do the same in this one.

‘Their blood will soak this earth!' he shrieked in what he trusted was a menacing way; it didn't come out very clearly. His tongue felt thick and overlarge in his mouth. He wished it was Ursula, not Aethelnoth, who was by his side. If he was going to die, he would have liked her near him, so that they could die as he'd always thought they might, shoulder to shoulder in the heat of battle. It was also true that with her strong arm and fearless heart on his side, death would have been a good deal less likely.

He tried to forget about her, about everything but what was to come. He wiped his muddy hand on his breeches and unsheathed his sword. Calling to Braveheart, he started to charge up to meet the enemy.