Gemini Thunder (11 page)

‘Being your companion has its up and downs,’ said Desmond, smiling. ‘But I sure like this bit.’

The soldiers who escaped from Winchester began to arrive at Chippingham in their groups of five hundred. Mindful of the entrapment in Winchester Castle, King Alfred and Edward de Gaini placed them in staggered semicircular formations on the rolling hills in the front of the town. Each formation was led by a line of longbow men; attackers would be exposed to a hail of arrows from them first before being replaced by a second line of bowmen. Then the exercise was repeated. The strategy was to keep the Viking at range for as long as possible whilst reducing their numbers. Once hand-to-hand combat prevailed, the Celts would be cut down by the Viking death-or-glory berserker frenzy, superior skills, and weapons.

And their own ability to stand and fight in sufficient numbers in the face of it.

Mounted scouts were left patrolling the outer limits of the mighty Savernake Forest and hill and valley approaches around Chippingham, and warning bonfires prepared. Copying the foe,
carnyx
, long, animal-headed warning horns were also deployed all along the outer line to be blown at the approach of the dreaded lowlanders. All of Alfred’s soldiers would be fighting without armor, which was discarded in Winchester Castle in order to stay silent as they crept down the tunnels.

Those in the settlement of Chippingham too old or not inclined to fight were advised to leave and scatter across the landscape as fast as they could, and a steady stream of carts full of hastily gathered possessions with various animals tied to them, the elderly, women, and children clinging to the possessions on top, made their way along the rutted tracks leading south out of the town.

Alfred also dispatched ten riders in different directions: three to the coast, where they were to attempt to get passage to Transalpine Gaul and Iberia, two to Wales, three to Mercia, and two to Kent. Their task was to make contact with the many freelance bands of mercenaries that roamed these lands and bring them back to join with the existing army in the struggle against the invaders. Each carried a signed and wax-sealed proclamation from Alfred that any mercenaries engaged would be paid in gold.

At least food was plentiful. The grain stores in Chippingham were full after a fine harvest, and meat was also in good supply.

High on one of these hills, Samuel Southee flopped down on the grass alongside his cohort leader Nathaniel Stubbs.

‘I didn’t know I was capable of marching so far, so fast,’ he said, mopping his perspiring brow. ‘Just goes to show what we can do when there’s a few thousand murdering invaders up your arse, eh Nat?’

Clem Fossey joined them and stuck his spear in the ground, propped his shield against it, and unbuckled his short sword.

‘‘Twas a miracle getting out of that castle,’ said Fossey.

‘Still don’t know how the king pulled it off.’

Southee pointed. Walking through the serried lines of exhausted soldiery spread out around them, Alfred and de Gaini stopped here and there offering words of encouragement to the exhausted troops.

‘From what I hear, getting out didn’t have much to do with them, or that loud voice and thunder and lightning we heard that made the tunnel shake. I was talking to one of de Gaini’s aides last night on the march up here. Them Viking also lost seven hundred men, those that were building siege engines,’ said Stubbs.

‘How?’

‘He said it was magic. Alfred’s got the Wessex veneficus helping him. The bloke who took over from Merlin.’

‘Merlin? I remember him,’ said Clem Fossey. ‘Saw him over Malmesbury way once. Tall, skinny fella with long silver hair and beard and the greenest eyes you ever saw. Turned a cattle thief into a brood mare in heat and put him in a field with four stallions!’

They chuckled.

‘So, de Gaini’s aide reckoned this new veneficus killed seven hundred Vikings with magic, eh?’ mused Southee. ‘Wish he’d been standing alongside when them murdering killers came screaming toward us in Winchester.’

They stayed silent for a while with memories of dead comrades and the battle.

‘I dunno about these sorcerers,’ said Stubbs reflectively. ‘Best left alone if you ask me. Never know what they’ll do next, even when they’re on your side.’

High above the three comrades, Ran, the sea eagle of Go-ian, glided silently, the thermal up-draughts produced by the wind coming off the rolling hills around Chippingham providing the perfect medium for an effortless holding pattern. With her feathers barely ruffling in the light cross breezes, the great bird took in everything below for reporting back to her master.

Until both of its huge wings were suddenly folded into its side in a grip it could not break.

And it disappeared from the sky.

Later, Ran, the captured sea eagle, blinked filmic hatred at his captor from its large tawny eyes, each with a black elliptical circle for a pupil. The hooked, sharp-pointed, flesh-tearing beak opened slightly as it spoke.

You are responsible for the death of my life partner, Boma. For this you will also die.

Your life partner, Boma, killed forty of my pica and deserved to die.

He was acting on instructions from our liege-lord, Go-ian. We cannot, as you know, refuse to carry out such commands. Besides, pica are stupid, clumsy little birds whose wings are too short for their fat bodies and who are tempted by baubles and other bright objects. Boma enjoyed killing them and so will I.

You, my fine feathered friend, will never get the opportunity. It is a pity to terminate the life of such a magnificent creature, but you are tainted by the catatonic frenzy of your master. The final moment of your eagle eternity has arrived.

Good-bye.

Nestling at the end of a beautiful wooded valley three miles south of Chippingham was the abbey occupied by the Druidical Order of Lacock. Known throughout the Celtic lands as a training school for the preparation of novices for initiation into the druidical orders, comprising studies into divining, astronomical matters, and healing, together with the more historical task of guarding the tribe’s traditions, the Order of Lacock held over one hundred devoted men. With its high worship of the mistletoe, which could only be cut down with a golden sickle, their talisman and symbol, the Order had flourished since the Romans left Britain. Drawn mainly from the Celtic nobility, the druids’ intertribal brotherhood and high birth, combined with the secrecy surrounding their priestly orders, gave them great authority in the community. As strictly pacifistic and privileged members of a learned and secretive class, they were also considered to be above conflicts, politics, and any form of patronage or intervention in the bellicosity of others.

This authority was even higher than normally accorded such orders because the leader of the Order of Lacock, Druid Ebroin, was the older brother of Elswith, the wife of King Alfred.

Ebroin had received the news of the imminent arrival of the Viking directly from Alfred and Elswith with equanimity. Alfred explained that he could not spare the men to defend the Order; it would be overrun in minutes by the savage marauders. Despite Elswith’s entreaties to her brother for the all the druids’ immediate departure for safer pastures, Ebroin, even when told in every graphic detail of the bloody demise of Septimus Godleman, remained adamant. The druids of the Order of Lacock were strict pacifists, offering no threat to the rabid Viking, and they would certainly not attempt to preach or change any of their deities or other ways of the Norse culture. The raiders would understand that. The Order of Lacock had seen invaders come and go and had never had a problem. Franks, Varini, Saxons, Picts, Gauls, Jutes, and Angles had all respected their neutrality and left them alone. The Viking would do the same; the druids would stay where they were.

‘What if they find out that you are the brother-in-law of the Celtic king and leader of their enemy?’ asked Elswith.

‘There is no reason for them to know that,’ replied Ebroin with that supercilious calm that always annoyed his sister. ‘Even if they do, I have no knowledge they could use.’

‘They have venefici with them,’ said Alfred.

The druid leader did not attempt to hide the disdain on his face, even to the king.

‘Oh, do they now,’ he said haughtily, leaving no doubt what he thought of that particular breed of idolatrous shaman.

‘Ebroin,’ said Alfred quietly. ‘We have the new Wessex veneficus called Twilight with us. He took over from Merlin three years ago. His use of magic is quite astonishing. Without him I would not have an army, let alone a life, your sister as wife, and a cause to fight for.’

Ebroin scowled. ‘I remember Merlin. Always wandering hereabouts muttering to himself and turning people into goats, much to his own amusement and that of others watching. His replacement will be no different. As the leader of the Order of Lacock I cannot condone such behaviour. Everything we stand for here runs contrary to the practices of venefical spell-bindery. Our purpose here is, as you know, peaceful coexistence with our fellow man in the pursuit of healing, earthly and astral matters, and as guardians and recorders of Celtic culture.’

Elswith left her brother with tears streaming down her face, convinced she would never see him alive again.

When Alfred and Elswith, together with their escort, arrived back at their camp, Edward de Gaini had some good news for them. Reinforcements had arrived. Edwin of Combe, a landed local thane, had sent four hundred soldiers consisting of one hundred longbow men, one hundred well-mounted cavalry, and two hundred foot soldiers. Edwin had sent the troops because he knew that if Alfred failed against the invader, he would be next. As part of Alfred’s force he had a chance; alone against the murderous lowlanders, he and his estates would be rolled over like the thunder god they worshipped.

Alfred was somewhat taken aback when de Gaini introduced him to the battle leader of the Malmesbury troops:

Gode, Edwin’s vivacious twenty-year-old daughter.

When asked by Alfred what a beautiful young lady was doing leading a small, private army, Gode replied spiritedly.

‘My father is a sick man and wanted me to become a peace-weaver and shield-maiden by marrying the son of Cerdic, a powerful thane of Mercia. He saw this as a way of cementing our two families, thus strengthening the whole.’

Her dark brown eyes flashed angrily.

‘The son of Cerdic is a lumpen fool with a cast to his eye. When I marry, it will be for love not diplomacy, and certainly not to a half-blind clumsy fool who I could outfight with both arms tied behind my back.’

‘Do you understand the dangers we face? These savages do not distinguish between men and women. Chivalry doesn’t exist in their world.’

‘I have heard what they did in Winchester,’ Gode said dismissively. ‘I was born with a sword and lance in my hand, and, since my father wanted boys and only got me and my three sisters, I was well schooled in their use.’

‘Have you ever killed a man?’ asked Edward de Gaini.

Gode looked at him levelly.

‘No, but when the opportunity presents itself I will not be found wanting.’

Alfred affected a bow and thanked her on behalf of the House of Wessex for coming. The Combe cavalry would be particularly useful and were immediately placed on one of the slopes overlooking the main route into Chippingham. The others were integrated quickly into the defending troop positions, with the only thing to differentiate them being their bright green and white standard and tunics against the red and gold of the king’s soldiers. The warlike Gode insisted on going with the cavalry troop. If there was any charging down upon the howling heads of flesh-craving Viking to be done, the dark-haired, brown-eyed beauty would be right at the forefront of her father’s men.

After the escape of most of Alfred’s soldiers from Winchester Castle and the release of Desmond, the Viking called a council of war. Following any setback or defeat on the battlefield, Norse maxim required that blame be attached and honour satisfied. Anyone not living up to the highest Viking standards of battle behaviour, including the king and regional chiefs, could be ritually sacrificed. No one was sure, least of all Go-uan and Go-ian, where the twin venefici fitted into this, but after winning the raging argument with Guthrum about Desmond’s release, they probably wouldn’t get another chance.

If Guthrum himself survived the council.

As was the custom, Guthrum removed the leather headband from around his forehead with the thirty small silver rings in it, one for each of the thirty regions who had voted him as their
jarl
five years ago. Until the council apportioned blame for the shambles at Winchester, they were kingless. This was a key part of Viking
lagu
or law. Should that decision go against him, Guthrum would be the first to be sacrificed through a beheading by his successor, who would assume the headband as king. If he was held blameless, Guthrum would resume as king and war leader. If someone else was made accountable, he would lose his head to Guthrum’s sharp, double-handled sword. The knock-on effect on the blamed warriors’ families was also catastrophic through banishment and complete obliteration from all sagas.

With only twenty-five regional chieftains in attendance, four being killed with their men building the siege engines and one by a direct hit from a thunderbolt, the council argued deep into the night. Each chieftain had his say, the Nordic deities were called upon, and the vote taken.

Guthrum survived. He was still
jarl
of the Viking.

In the end, blame was vested in the four chieftains who died with their men. As they were already dead, striking their names and those of their families from the sagas was deemed sacrifice enough. There were also some very strong words about the ineffectiveness of the twin venefici on the basis that the Celts seemed to have an altogether better manipulator of the enchantments, especially in the loss of Olaf Tryggvason and his three thousand men and the deaths of the seven hundred siege-engine builders in Winchester. Any further lapses and they, too, would be on the receiving end of a neck severing, magic or no.

As the dawn broke over Winchester, the departing Viking set fire to the castle. Those judged to have given their lives gallantly in battle were afforded the traditional funeral pyre in the camp. The seven hundred siege-engine soldiers were not among them. Their bodies were piled high around the inside of the castle, doused with pitch, and set alight. As the fat and flesh from their narcotically sodden, swollen-hearted bodies kicked, sizzled, and exploded, bathing the area in a sickening black smoke and stench, Guthrum, his king’s headband once more around his forehead, issued a hoarse command with his huge sword held high.

‘To Chippingham and death to all Celts.’

‘I have tried to convince Ebroin, the leader of the Order of Lacock and Elswith’s brother, to leave the abbey with his fellow druids at once. They are right in the path of the Viking and will be crushed mercilessly. But, as with Septimus Godleman, he believes his calling has the power to deflect the Viking such that they will leave the abbey and its inhabitants alone,’ King Alfred said somberly.

‘Everyone believes their chosen deity is omnipotent and above all others in the face of evil,’ said Twilight. ‘It is a flaw of the human condition. The problem comes when they have to live, or die, with the consequences of being wrong. Ebroin is the elder brother of your wife?’

‘Yes, she has two others in Wales at the home of her birth. Elswith is worried for Ebroin’s life and what he might say if they find out he’s my brother-in-law and tortured or used as barter.’

The king, de Gaini, Desmond, and Twilight sat around a glowing campfire in the early evening, discussing tactics for the coming battle. The pica continued to report the hour-by-hour progress of the marauding raiders to their master. At their present rate they would get to the Celts’ outer positions around the middle of the next day.

‘Would you like me to try and talk with Ebroin?’

Alfred shook his head in a negative with a sigh.

‘He will not listen. He is a stubborn man, even under these circumstances. He also does not have a very high opinion of venefici.’

Twilight nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘He is a druid, and those of us who can manipulate matter and produce inverse phenomena are considered to inherit a most profane underworld as far as the druidical diviners are concerned.’

‘It’s jealousy,’ blurted Desmond. ‘Plain and simple. Because the druids can’t do or understand the venefical crinkum crankum, they consider it to be evil.’

‘There is another problem with the abbey and its order.’ Alfred gazed into the dull orange and gray embers of the fire. ‘I didn’t discuss it with Ebroin because of his intransigence, but most of the novices are offspring of the highborn. Sons and brothers of the great and good of Wessex sent there as part of the preparation for later leadership of their family, clan, or even tribe. They’ll be in possession of a great deal of information that could be useful to the raider—size of estates, plans for the future, numbers of protective soldiery, etcetera. If torture fails, will those twin venefici still be able to extract such information?’

‘If they are still alive after torture, or the twins get to them first, then yes. If the torture kills them, and let’s face it, most Viking torture does, then the information and anything else in their memory dies with them. There is, however, another way and one which I would only recommend to protect you, my lord.’

‘Oh?’ Alfred raised his eyebrows.

‘I could erase all their memories, including that of Ebroin,’ said Twilight quietly. ‘I would need to be invisible and in the presence of each one of them individually without their knowing, but that could be accomplished as they sleep.’

‘What would happen to them?’

‘They would become human shells with no history. Everything that had gone before in their lives before that point would be a complete blank. They would not be able to tell the Viking anything, even under torture. ‘

‘Could you put the memory back afterwards?’ asked de Gaini.

‘Not with any degree of certainty. Some might be in full possession, some not—there is no way of knowing until after the event.’

Alfred pondered this for a while.

‘Thank you for the suggestion, but I cannot allow it. If they do survive, the notion that some would do so as empty-headed fools is probably a fate worse than death to them as intelligent beings. There is enough on my conscience as it is, without that.’

There was a commotion at one of the guard points around Alfred, and shortly after a guard came and whispered in de Gaini’s ear.

‘It is the fiery Gode of Combe. She would like a word with us.’

The king waved to the guard to let her through, and the young lady strode confidently into the circle wearing full battle armor.

They all stood and Alfred introduced her to Twilight and Desmond. Acknowledging them with a curt nod, she turned to Alfred and de Gaini.

‘My liege, we sit here awaiting the arrival of the barbarians, who will no doubt be coming toward us as fast as they can in a formation that resembles a disordered rabble. From what I can gather, these Viking do not understand forced marching in battle order, with outriders and forward scouts as we would, more a headlong rush as fast as they can to their destination, trampling everything underfoot that gets in their way.’