The Viking's Defiant Bride (4 page)

‘But surely if Ella is dead they have what they want now,' replied Osgifu. ‘They will leave with their plunder as they always do.'

‘This time they want more than plunder. Halfdan has let it be known they want land and they plan to take it.'

‘Land? Do the pirates mean to stay?'

‘It would seem our shores are more fertile than their northern fastness.'

‘They will find the price dear.' Aylwin's face was grim. ‘My sword is ready, and those of my kin.'

Elgiva could see the determination on the faces all around her and knew a moment of shame that he was ready to fight on her behalf when she had earlier had misgivings about her betrothal to him, putting thoughts of her happiness before Ravenswood. As she looked up he caught her eye and smiled.

‘I swear, no harm shall come to you while I live, lady.'

Elgiva began to feel distinctly guilty. ‘I thank you, my lord. If it comes to a fight, my family will be much in your debt.'

‘They are soon to be my family too,' he replied. ‘It is fitting my sword be ready to use in their defence, and in yours.'

Elgiva smiled a little in return, liking him more in that moment than ever before. However, her thoughts were soon distracted for Aylwin had turned away and was already organising the deployment of the men.

‘Every man and boy able to hold a weapon must prepare. There can be no knowing how soon the Viking host may march. We shall double our guard and watchers shall be placed at the boundaries to give word of any approaching force. If the Norsemen come, we shall be ready for them.'

He gave his orders and men departed to do his bidding. Elgiva turned to check on Gunter, but he was asleep and Osgifu was with him.

‘I will watch over him the while,' she said.

‘Will he survive, do you think?'

‘He has lost much blood, 'tis true. But he is a strong man and, God willing, he will come through this. What he needs is rest and quiet.'

‘I pray God that he may have it.'

‘Amen to that, child.'

Elgiva left her and went outside, making her way to the steps leading to the rampart that ran along the inside of the palisade. From there she had an excellent view of the preparations taking
place as everywhere men hastened to ready themselves for the defence of Ravenswood. Beyond the hall with its attendant stables and storehouses and the high wooden pale, the countryside lay still. An area of open ground surrounded the pale, and beyond it was pasture and woodland. Usually Elgiva thought of it as a place of peace and solitude, but now those quiet glades held menace. Her eyes scanned the trees, seeking for any sign of movement that might reveal a hidden enemy, but there was nothing to be seen save a few serfs driving their swine to feed. In the little hamlet people went about their business, though looking fearfully about all the while. The knowledge that Lord Aylwin had posted sentinels through the estate offered partial reassurance; at least there would be no surprise attack. Perhaps it was as Osgifu had said: now they had exacted their vengeance on King Ella they would adventure no further. It was a slender hope for the greed of the pirates was legendary. Their periodic raids were a fact of life for the unfortunate coastal dwellers, and the Norsemen had regularly carried off women and livestock along with any other loot that seized their fancy. Then they had sailed for their northern lands taking their booty with them.

Elgiva shivered to think of the poor souls taken off to a life of slavery in a strange country, of the women who must become unwilling wives or concubines to their new masters. It would be better to fight to the death than submit to such a fate as that. As she glanced away from the distant trees, her gaze fell on the roof of the bower. Within her chamber was the chest where she kept her gowns. Underneath them was the sword her father had given her some years before. He had taught her to use it too, holding that a woman should be schooled in self-defence as well as a man. Elgiva was resolved. If need be, she too, would fight and kill to defend her home.

T
he Viking attack came within days; the sentinels on Ravenswood's boundaries returned in haste to report the sighting of a marching host hundreds strong. Elgiva had been sewing in the women's bower with Osgifu when the peace was shattered by the wild ringing of the church bell. Her hands paused at their task and for a moment or two she listened before the implications sank in.

‘The alarm.'

‘Dear Lord, it cannot be.' Osgifu threw down her sewing and hastened to the door, but her companion was before her. Both of them halted in dismay on the threshold; outside was a scene of urgent haste with men running to their posts, buckling on swords as they went. They stopped a man-at-arms who was hurrying to the palisade with a large sheaf of arrows.

‘What is it? What's happening?'

‘The sentries have reported sighting a large enemy force, my lady,' he replied. ‘It is advancing on Ravenswood.'

Osgifu paled, looking in alarm at the armed men running towards the ramparts. ‘An enemy force?'

‘Aye, the Vikings approach.' He inclined his head to Elgiva.
‘Your pardon, lady, but I dare not stay longer. I must to my post.' With that he was gone.

The two women ran to the hall where Aylwin was barking orders to his men. As they hastened to obey, he turned to Elgiva.

‘Go bar yourself in the upper chamber, my lady. It will be far safer. Take Osgifu and the children too.'

Before she had a chance to reply one of Aylwin's men spoke out, throwing a dark glance at Osgifu.

‘I've been told that this woman is of Danish blood, my lord. How do we know she can be trusted?'

Elgiva surveyed him with anger. ‘Osgifu has served my family faithfully and well for many years. Her loyalty is not in question nor ever has been.'

The man reddened. ‘I beg pardon, my lady.'

Aylwin glared at him, then nodded towards the door. The other took the hint and beat a hasty retreat.

‘I'm sorry, Elgiva.' Aylwin laid a soothing hand on her arm. ‘Such times make men cautious.'

‘So it seems.'

With an effort Elgiva forced down her indignation. It would not aid their cause to quarrel among themselves. She turned to Osgifu.

‘Fetch Hilda and the children and the women servants. Then go with them to the upper floor.'

If Osgifu had been in any way discomforted by the conversation, it was not evident. Returning Elgiva's gaze, she asked, ‘What about you, child?'

‘I will come presently, but there is something I must fetch first.'

‘Make haste then, my lady,' said Aylwin. With one last warm smile he hurried off to join his men outside.

Elgiva raced back to the bower and, throwing open the chest in the corner, retrieved the sword from the bottom. The familiar weight of the weapon was comforting. At least they should not
be completely defenceless if the worst came to the worst. Closing her hand round the scabbard, she slammed the chest shut and went to join the others, barring the stout door behind her as Aylwin had instructed. Then she took up a station by the far window. The shutters were pulled to, but through a broken slat she could see much of the hustle and activity below as men ran to their posts. Aylwin had his plan ready days earlier and each one of his retainers knew where he was supposed to be. Within a short time they were ready, armed to the teeth, and grimly determined to defend their homes and their lives.

The clanging bell had brought the peasants from the fields and the wood to seek the relative safety of the pale. No sooner were they gathered within than the men on the wall called out a warning as the forward ranks of the Viking host appeared. Like an army of sinister wraiths, silent and intent, they emerged from among the trees into the pasture beyond. One of their archers loosed an arrow, killing a Saxon guard where he stood. Then, as though at a signal, a great shout went up from the invaders, splitting the stillness, and they surged forwards as one.

‘Merciful heavens,' murmured Aylwin. ‘Surely this can be no ordinary raiding party. There are hundreds of them.' By his private reckoning his men would be outnumbered five to one.

Beside him, his armed companion had made a similar calculation. ‘This is revenge indeed for their dead chieftain.'

What Aylwin might have said next was lost in a hissing rain of arrows. It covered the advance of the Viking vanguard that carried ladders to raise against the walls. Swiftly the defenders loosed their own arrows in reply, but each time one of the attackers fell he was immediately replaced and the assault renewed. The Saxons maintained a deadly fire from above, but to right and left the invaders swarmed up the ladders and over the walls. The first were cut down without mercy, but their comrades followed hard on their heels and soon fierce battle was enjoined, filling the air with shouts and the clash of arms.

Peering through the gap in the shutters, Elgiva stared in horror at the scene of carnage below and murmured a prayer. Everywhere she looked the Viking marauders were pouring in over the walls.

‘God in heaven, can there be so many?'

Giants they seemed, these fierce warriors, cruel with battle thirst, each face alight with lust for blood and conquest. With sword and axe they cut down all who stood in their way, crying out the name of their war god.

‘Odin!'

The cry was repeated from four hundred throats as the Norsemen drove forwards, fearless into the ranks of their foes. The defenders fought bravely but the sheer weight of numbers pushed them back, step by step, the enemy advancing over the bodies of the slain, remorseless, hacking their way on. As the defenders fell back, Elgiva could see another group of the enemy without the palisade, dragging a huge battering ram into position. It was the trunk of a tree, fresh hewn and drawn on a wheeled timber cradle. Under cover of ox-hide shields the marauders rolled the supporting cradle back and forth, building momentum until the end of the trunk crashed against the gate. The stout timbers creaked, but held. Elgiva stared in horrified fascination as with each swing the gate shook. Alive to the danger the nearest Saxon defenders rallied to the gate and swarmed to the rampart inside the palisade, raining arrows and rocks on to the men beneath.

For a little while it seemed that they had met with success; several of the Vikings fell and the momentum of the great ram was lost. It was a brief respite—in moments reinforcements arrived and other warriors stepped up to take the places of their fallen comrades. The assault on the gate began anew. The timbers shuddered and splintered. Amid the clash of arms and shouts of men a thunderous crack announced the breach, followed by a roar of triumph from the invading horde who poured through the gap like a tide beneath their black-raven banner.

Helpless, Elgiva could only watch as the Saxon defence crumbled and her retainers were beaten back towards the great hall. Beside them Aylwin and his men fought on, shoulder to shoulder, returning the enemy blow for blow. Half a dozen more men fell under Aylwin's sword while all around him the group of defenders grew smaller and more desperate, redoubling their efforts, hacking and thrusting and parrying, each man determined to sell his life dear. Tireless they seemed, yet one by one they fell. Aylwin fought on, laying about him with a will, his sword smoking and bloody as it rose and fell, slashing and cutting until the bodies were piled before him. And then its edge struck the blade of a huge war axe. The sword shivered and Aylwin was left undefended. He hurled the sundered hilt at the foe in a last act of defiance before the enemy blade cut him down.

Elgiva's hand flew to her lips, stifling her cry, and she closed her eyes a moment, forcing back tears. Weakness would not help Aylwin now, or any of the survivors who would depend on her. Striving to regain some measure of self-control she turned from the window, sombrely regarding the other occupants of the room. Seeing that stony expression, Hilda let out a terrified sob as she cowered, clutching the baby, Pybba, to her breast. The nursemaid was but six and ten years old and plainly terrified. Osgifu stood beside her, pale but silent, her arm about the three-year-old Ulric, who clutched her skirt and bit a trembling lip. Around them the women servants sobbed.

In the hall below were gathered a handful of men left for their defence. Violent banging on the barred outer doors announced the invaders' intent and the great timbers shuddered. Elgiva knew it could only be a matter of time before they broke through for above the din she heard the sinister thunk of axes against timber. A woman screamed. Minutes later the door gave way amid a roar of voices and the clash of weapons as the defenders tried to stem the tide of invaders. Shouts and
shrieks filled the hall. More invaders poured in through the shattered doorway. Several made for the stairway in pursuit of plunder. Elgiva heard the heavy footfalls and men's voices. Someone tried the chamber door and found it barred. Then she heard a man's voice.

‘Break it down!'

There followed the fearsome sound of axes in wood. Hilda let out a stifled sob of terror. The baby began to cry and in desperation she tried to quiet it, while little Ulric looked on, wide-eyed with fright. Elgiva looked from them to the door, which shook under the assault. In another minute the first blades were visible through a hole in the timber, a hole that grew larger with each blow. A few more moments and they would be through. With beating heart she backed away to the far side of the room, watching the splintering wood in helpless horror, struggling to control her growing fear. With her back to the wall, she closed her hand round the hilt of the sword and, taking a deep breath, drew the blade from the sheath.

As she did so the door burst asunder and the first three men fell into the room, followed by half a dozen more. Their greedy gaze fell immediately on the cowering group in front of them and they strode forwards, seizing upon the women servants. One man grabbed hold of Hilda, who clutched the baby in one arm and the terrified Ulric in the other. Osgifu strove to come between, but a heavy blow sent her reeling back into the wall. She hit her head and fell, stunned. Hilda shrieked, struggling wildly against the hands that held her, her screams mingling with those of the baby.

Outraged to see such treatment meted out to the weak and helpless, Elgiva stepped forwards.

‘Leave them alone! Let them go!'

It proved a futile protest, but the words drew attention from a different quarter and Elgiva found herself confronting another armed man. Tall and well made, fair of hair and beard, he
might have been handsome save for the thin cruel lips drawn back in an indulgent sneer.

‘Well now, what have we here?'

Her face blazed with loathing and contempt and her hand tightened round the hilt of the sword.

‘Viking scum! You would make war on women and helpless infants! Come, try your luck here! I'll slit your belly and spill your yellow guts for you!'

All eyes turned towards Elgiva, registering surprise, and then, on seeing the sword, amusement.

‘Have a care, Sweyn,' called one of his companions in mocking tones. ‘That one is a regular fire eater.'

Sweyn bared his teeth in a smile, his cold grey gaze speculative. ‘A warrior maid, no less. One of Odin's daughters, perhaps, and fluent in our tongue. That will be convenient when I give her instructions in bed.'

Appreciative grins greeted the words and the speaker turned away for a moment to share the joke with his companions. Elgiva darted in for the attack. From the corner of his eye he saw the flashing blade aimed at him and leapt aside. The thrust that should have pierced his heart merely gashed his arm. Incredulous, he clapped his free hand to the wound, staring at the dripping blood, amid roars of laughter from the rest. Undeterred, Elgiva laid on with a will and for several moments Sweyn was forced to defend himself most dexterously before the onslaught, being driven back several paces. However, very soon greater strength and skill began to tell and then it was Elgiva who was forced back step by step until she came up hard against the far wall. A heavy blow beneath the hilt numbed her hand and wrist and with a gasp of pain she dropped the sword, only to find the Viking's blade at her throat.

‘Beg for mercy, vixen!'

Elgiva spat at him. She knew he would kill her now, but she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear, of hear
ing her plead. Lifting her chin, she let her gaze travel the length of the bloody sword until it met that of the man who held it. The tip of the sword pierced the skin and she felt the warm trickle of blood. With pounding heart she waited for the final thrust. For a long moment there was silence. Then the blade was lowered a fraction and for a fleeting second there was something like admiration in his eyes.

‘No,' he said softly, ‘I will not kill you. What a waste that would be.'

‘You speak true, Sweyn!' called a voice from the assembled group behind. ‘Take her to your bed. I wager you'll never have a livelier piece.'

Another shout of laughter went up. Elgiva felt her cheeks flame as she heard Sweyn laugh, saw his hot gaze strip her.

‘I'd rather be dead.'

‘You're not going to die,' he replied. ‘Not yet.'

He sheathed the sword and, stepping close, seized her by the waist, bringing his mouth down hard on hers amid shouts of encouragement from the watching men.