Knights of the Hawk (57 page)

Taking Oswynn’s hand in mine, I led her towards the stairs, lifting a sealskin cloak from where it lay atop a chest and wrapping it around her shoulders, then taking the torch from its stand. Down in the feasting-hall the hearth-fire was crackling and smoking. Godric, Magnus and Ælfhelm had tossed armfuls of the drier rushes on to the smouldering embers, and now bright flames were sparking into life, already causing some of the larger kindling and timbers they had thrown on it to blacken and catch light.

‘Grab that torch,’ I said to Godric, pointing towards the second of the two wall-sconces, and to Magnus and Ælfhelm: ‘Take some of those timbers from the fire.’

They didn’t need telling a second time. This was the moment we had been waiting for. The moment when we would send our message to Haakon, when we would destroy his famed stronghold, and all he held dear.

We carried those firebrands out into the open and then tossed them high up the thatch on both sides of the hall so that it would catch all the quicker. Then, while Godric went to fetch Eanflæd and the other women from the building where we’d left them, Ælfhelm, Magnus, Oswynn and I set about spreading flame to some of the other storehouses, sheds and outbuildings that abutted the palisade.

I knew it wouldn’t be so long before we were spotted. And so it proved. Of the two hundred or so warriors who must have comprised Haakon’s army, only perhaps a score still remained in Jarnborg, and they were clearly the worst afflicted, since many were barely able to stand and even now were continuing to spew the contents of their stomachs all over the yard. No sooner had they seen us, however, and realised what we were doing to their lord’s halls than they raised a cry and began coming at us: a swarm of wild spear-Danes and sword-Danes and axe-Danes in various states of undress, some in only their trews, most without even a shield to protect themselves.

We, however, were armed and ready for a fight, eager to free our sword-arms, our blood already up.

‘Stay back!’ I yelled to Oswynn as the enemy charged. ‘Stay behind us!’

Some tripped over their own feet as they ran, while others could only manage an ungainly stagger, which meant that instead of all attacking together, they came in ragged fashion, in ones and twos. The first of them rushed towards me, yelling wordlessly, aiming a swing at my shoulder. Steel shrieked as I met his weapon with my own, and then I was turning the flat of my blade against the edge of his, forcing it down and out of position, before jerking my elbow up and into his chin. Stunned, he staggered backwards, and instantly he was forgotten as I spun out of the path of the next man’s axe and whirled about his flank. This one was not quick either in wits or on his feet, and before he’d even realised where I had gone, I’d sliced across the back of his thigh, sending him sprawling.

‘No mercy,’ I shouted. ‘No mercy!’

The battle-calm was descending, the sword-joy filling me, and I gave myself over to instinct as I stepped deftly from one opponent to the next, cutting, parrying, thrusting, scything through their midst, as easily as if it were a dance. All about me the blade-song rang out. I was dimly aware, at the far end of the enclosure, of Eithne and a band of the slave-girls, a dozen of them and more. With knives in hand they rushed from one of the buildings. Even as we tore into the enemy from the front, they assailed them from behind, hurling themselves into the fray, setting upon those Danes who had tripped and fallen, plunging steel into their throats, and I was laughing as I saw we were winning, cutting them down on all sides, wreaking a ruin amongst Haakon’s troops, filling the morning with our fury.

The fire was taking hold now, sweeping across the thatch of the feasting-hall and the other buildings. Bright tongues of flame licked at the sky, while thick clouds of black smoke billowed up, wafting across the enclosure, stinging my eyes and making me cough, but I did not care as I released the anger that for so long had been building and let my sword do its work, until suddenly the enemy, the ten or so that remained, were falling to their knees, or else fleeing across the yard.

Behind me I heard Oswynn scream, and my heart all but stopped as I turned, thinking that she had found herself some trouble. They were not screams of alarm or pain, though, but of hatred. In her wide eyes was a fury I’d never before witnessed. Rushing forward, she snatched up the sword of one of the fallen Danes, and then, as he tried to rise, stamped her foot down on to his chest, pinning him to the ground. He gave a yell, but it was short-lived, as Oswynn gripped the hilt in both hands and drove the point down, hard, into his face, all the while shrieking in triumph as tears streamed down her cheeks. Her teeth gritted, she tugged it free, then plunged it into his chest where his heart would be, and again and again and again, until finally I managed to drag her away.

‘He’s dead,’ I said, though still she struggled. ‘Oswynn, he’s dead!’

Eventually I was able to prise the weapon from her grasp. I tossed it aside and she fell into my arms, pressing her face against my shoulder, weeping uncontrollably. By then the fight was all but over, and those few who hadn’t surrendered were being chased down by the slave-girls. In all the years I’d trodden the sword-path I’d never seen anything like it.

‘He was one of Haakon’s friends,’ Oswynn said. ‘Sprott, his name was. Many times he—’

But whatever it was she had been about to say, she couldn’t go on, for fresh tears spilt forth.

‘It’s all right,’ I said, caressing her head. ‘You don’t have to tell me.’

What she had seen and what she had been made to do, I didn’t want to imagine. It was a wonder that anything of her old spirit remained. At least she had not forgotten how to wield a blade. A long time ago I’d gifted her with a knife and spent long afternoons teaching her how to use it, so that she would be able to protect herself if ever she needed. A keen learner, she had picked up the rudiments far quicker than many boys, and I was pleased to see that those skills were as sharp now as they had been then.

‘Lord,’ I heard Godric call, and looked up to see him returning with Eanflæd and the other two women close behind him.

Haakon’s hall was by then nothing but a writhing, twisting tower of flame, a beacon blazing out across the fjord. Around it the many stable buildings and workshops that we had also fired were aflame, and even some that we hadn’t, as the breeze spread glowing ash from one to the next. Smoke swirled all about, growing thicker with every heartbeat. Jarnborg, Haakon’s home, his pride, his so-called iron fortress, was burning.

This was no time to revel in our achievement, however. We had to leave while we still could, before any of his men rushed back to rescue their prized possessions from the blaze.

‘This way,’ I called, waving to Oswynn but also to Godric, Ælfhelm and a grimacing Magnus, who was hobbling, the leather of his shoe covered with blood where he had been wounded. He was clearly struggling, and I knew he would never make it out of Jarnborg alive on his own. But I wasn’t about to leave him. Together we had planned and plotted this victory, and together we had risked all. Together we had fought, and together we would see it through.

‘Go with them,’ I said to Oswynn, meaning Godric and Ælfhelm. I picked up a spear that a dead Dane had no more use for and thrust it into her hands. She could hardly go without a weapon, and that would be better suited to her than a heavy sword. ‘You’ll be safe so long as you stay close to them and don’t leave their sight.’

‘No,’ she said, her eyes beseeching. ‘I want to stay with you.’

‘Don’t argue with me,’ I said. ‘Not now.’

I wiped away the tear rolling down her cheek and kissed her then, kissed her hard, savouring the feel of her lips pressed against mine, and with that I tore myself away from her embrace.

‘Go,’ I said. As she turned, a shiver ran through me, for I remembered only too well what had happened the last time I’d left her to the protection of others. But it would be different this time.

I rushed to Magnus, placing one arm under his shoulder and lending him my own for support, allowing him to take the weight off his injured foot. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ælfhelm hurrying towards us, and I knew that it was the oath binding him to his lord that had made him turn back. At the same time Godric too was hesitating, as if uncertain what to do.

I waved them on. ‘Lead the women away from here,’ I shouted. ‘Get them to safety. Go!’

Fortunately the huscarl soon saw sense. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned, raising his sword and pointing it towards the gatehouse. I was relying on him, as doubtless the most experienced warrior among us, if not necessarily the best swordsman, to keep his head.

The guards at the entrance, seeing how we had possession of the place of slaughter, had already fled, leaving the gates open. All we had to do was reach them. One step at a time, I helped Magnus across the yard, through the mud and the puddles, around the bodies of the slain. The usurper’s son wasn’t heavy, but he wasn’t light either, and I soon felt the strain on my back and shoulders.

‘Thank you, Tancred,’ he said through clenched teeth when we were rounding the pig-pens and halfway to the gatehouse.

‘Don’t thank me until this is over,’ I replied curtly. ‘We haven’t survived this yet.’

Close by the gate, Eithne was marshalling the slaves, yelling at them to follow Godric and Ælfhelm and Oswynn. As well as women and girls, there were a few men and boys, I saw now, all recognisable by their short-shaven hair and all armed, some with spears and axes taken from Danes they had killed, but most with fish knives and meat cleavers, hayforks and iron pokers, implements that in the right hands were as good as any weapon.

‘Lord!’ Eithne shouted when she saw me. Quick-thinking as ever, she ran to the horses that we’d tethered not far from the gate. The sight of the flames, the smell of the smoke and the clash of steel had spooked them, but she clearly had a way with the animals, for by the time we’d reached her she’d managed to soothe one so that it would let Magnus mount it. Together we helped him into the saddle. He winced as he placed his injured foot in the stirrup.

Teeth gritted against the pain, he clasped my hand in thanks. ‘I’ll live,’ he said. ‘So long as I can hold a sword, I’ll fight.’

Eithne and I turned our attention to the other horses, doing what we could to calm them before mounting up and slicing through the ropes tying them to the post. Then the three of us kicked on, cantering through the smoke, beneath the gate-arch and on down the track, riding hard to catch up with the rest of our party.

The wind buffeted my cheeks and stunted trees flashed past on either side. The mist was clearing; from here I could see through the trees, all the way down the slope towards the bay. Between the bare branches I glimpsed
Nihtegesa
and
Wyvern
drawn up on the shore, with hundreds of footprints streaking away from them across the sand, leading towards drier land.

Where battle had been joined. Already on both sides the ordered lines of the shield-wall had broken and men were running among one another, hacking and thrusting and laying their enemies low, filling the morning with howls of agony and cries of rage, with the clatter of steel upon limewood and the screams of horses. Across the bloodstained field lay crumpled bodies in their dozens, with their weapons and their pennons lying beside them. And then, in the middle of the fray, I caught sight of Haakon’s banner, the black dragon with the burning eyes and the axe in its claws. It was all but surrounded, with both Eudo’s tusked boar and Wace’s rising sun harrying it, although from such a distance I couldn’t pick out either the Dane or my friends amidst so many mail-clad warriors.

‘For Robert!’ I yelled. Those on foot ahead of me heard our hoofbeats and my cries and made way. I kept looking for Oswynn and Ælfhelm and Godric, but I didn’t see them, and I could only suppose they were somewhere further ahead. ‘For Robert de Commines!’

‘On!’ Magnus cried, exhorting our band. Cheers erupted from the slaves as he and I rode past them to lead the charge. ‘On, on, on! For Eadmund and for Godwine!’ yelled Magnus, and I guessed those must be the names of the two brothers he had lost.

We had reached the flatter, open ground at the foot of the promontory on which Jarnborg stood. Ahead, three foemen were stumbling away from the fray: one clutching his arm; another whose face was entirely covered with blood and was missing several of his teeth; a third who had lost an eye. Too late they saw us coming. Too late they raised their weapons. My steed did not falter as I brought my weapon to bear, slicing across the shoulder of the first at the same time as Magnus battered his blade across the second’s helmet. The last, the one with the missing eye, threw himself to one side, just in time, and we left him for those behind to finish as we rode on across the open meadow, towards the heart of the fray, towards the dragon banner, which was beginning to waver as our forces pressed at it on all flanks, from the front and from behind.

Worse was to come for Haakon, too. Some of his followers had decided their lives were worth more than their oaths to their lord, for suddenly they were breaking and running. They hadn’t been expecting a battle this morning; they had no stomach for the struggle, nor in truth were they in any fit state to wield a blade, and their nerve was failing them. Their side still held the advantage in numbers but, as I’d found, numbers alone will not win a battle. Confidence is everything, and theirs had been shattered. Where bloodlust and battle-fury had reigned, now there was only fear. And just as one man’s resolve can provide inspiration for his sword-brothers, and make their hearts swell with belief both in themselves and their cause, fear can do the opposite. So it was then. Man by man, the enemy host crumbled. As each spear-Dane saw his companion deserting his side, abandoning the struggle, so he too realised his efforts were in vain. He saw the hordes of Englishmen and Normans bearing down on him with sharpened steel in their hands and death in their eyes, and he fled, spreading his panic in turn to the next man and the next and the next, until, like sparrows fleeing the hawk’s shadow, suddenly the enemy were scattering, running anywhere they could, so long as it was away from their foes.