GUNHILD HURRIED DOWN the slope, picking her way around the piles of equipment and supplies that cluttered the ground behind the battle lines of an army engaged in fighting.
Auxiliaries and servants scurried around, fetching new arrows, shields or other pieces of war gear to those who needed them. Exhausted warriors, rotated away from the front lines gulped water and took welcome rest. Their faces and arms were streaked with sweat, dirt and blood. They sat in silence, their eyes hollow from the horrors they had witnessed and committed, waiting until it was their turn to return to the slaughter.
Roman medics tended to the ever growing numbers of wounded, who waited to be treated beside ever higher piles of corpses. Next to them lay those who were in between: the casualties whose wounds were too severe and now waited to die. The battlefield itself was obscured by thick grey smoke drifting from the burning grass. When the wind changed it wafted through the rear where Gunhild was, stinging eyes and catching in the throat.
It was now late in the afternoon and Gunhild had found she could wait in the Burgundar camp no longer. She had sat with the other women, waiting, though no one had been happy with this Roman way of war. They all felt their place was beside the battlefield, screaming their encouragement to the menfolk, not sitting here behind the lines, waiting like children. The fact that Brynhild was actually out their fighting with the other women of the Valkyrjur made it even harder to bear.
They heard the roar and clash of the fighting which added to their vexation. Then as the day wore on, unsettling rumours began to drift back from the field of conflict: News that the Huns were winning, the Alans had run away and that at least one leader of the Alliance army had been killed in the fighting. When smoke began to drift through the camp from the now burning fields it made things more confusing. What on earth was going on?
Gunhild’s meeting with Brynhild that morning still unsettled her as well. Her old friend had always been a little bit strange but that morning she had been unnerving. Gunhild preferred to tell herself that what Brynhild had said was not true, but if it was indeed fantasy it appeared to have had a profound effect on Brynhild. What would she do next? Were any of them safe from her madness?
In the end Gunhild had resolved to go and see what was actually happening for herself.
As she passed a gathering of the dying she spotted someone and stopped. The wounded lay scattered across the ground. Blood from their sometimes horrific wounds ran into the dry, dusty earth. Some were silent and Gunhild would have judged them already dead but for the faint flutter of their chests moving up and down. Others moaned in pain or fear as they hovered on the brink of eternal darkness. Their friends and the medics had done their best to make them comfortable with folded blankets under their heads and goatskins filled with watered-down wine within their grasp.
Among them Gunhild had spotted the blonde-haired Valkyrjur who Brynhild had seemed so attached to when they had visited her realm. Wondering if she might learn more about Brynhild, she approached. Two other badly wounded women horse warriors were beside the blonde woman, who lay on her back, eyes closed, a grimace of pain on her face. Both hands were clasped over a large, red wound in her stomach. Either it went right through her or she had already bled a lot, for her torso was surrounded by a dark pool of thickening blood. A cloud of flies hovered above her. As Gunhild approached, her shadow fell over the woman’s face and she opened her eyes.
‘I am Gunhild,’ Gunhild said. ‘You are Brynhild’s… friend, aren’t you?’
A look of momentary concern crossed the wounded woman’s face.
‘Is she with you?’ she said. ‘I’d rather she didn’t see me like this. I want her to remember me the way I was.’
She tried to raise her head but only had the strength to lift it a little off the ground. Then she flopped back again and closed her eyes once more. It was clear she was near the end.
‘She is not with me,’ Gunhild said, crouching down beside the wounded woman. ‘Do not worry.’
‘Worry?’ The woman, eyes still closed, made a wan smile. ‘If she really was here it would be you who would be worried. She told me what has happened to her. My Brynhild is on her Hell Ride today. She rides for vengeance. Today she will redden her sword with the blood of Huns and all those who did her wrong. Including you. Your brother. Your husband, and the other betrayers.’
Gunhild started. The vague worry she had felt since that morning became a little more intense.
‘I approach my death time,’ the horse warrior said, her voice becoming a breathless whisper. ‘I go to the land of the dead ruled over by Queen Hel. One day Brynhild will join me there but I hope it will not be for some time yet. But you all will be with me before the sun sets. Brynhild has vowed this. Brynhild has sworn an oath she will take her revenge and Brynhild never breaks her oaths. You, of all people, should know that.’
Then the woman let out a little sigh. A rattling sound came from her throat then she lay still as if she were carved from wood.
Gunhild glanced at the other two Valkyrjur in case she might be able to learn more from them but saw both were already too far gone towards death. She stood up, brushing dry grass and dust from her dress, then carried on her journey, now with a renewed sense of urgency.
After some time and plenty of asking, she managed to find Gunderic, Aetius and a few of the other commanders on horseback a short distance behind the ranks of Roman legionaries. The short distance of open ground between the fighting men and their leaders resembled the back of a hedgehog, so many Hun arrows were embedded in it.
‘Sister!’ Gunderic said, seeing Gunhild approach. Aetius frowned, no doubt disquieted by the sight of a woman near a battlefield.
‘How goes it?’ Gunhild said. ‘With all this smoke I thought the world itself was burning.’
‘Wodnas set fires to confuse the Hun cavalry,’ Gunderic said. ‘The Visigoths were getting pressed pretty hard.’
‘Is it bad?’ Gunhild said. She could read the concern in her brother’s expression.
‘They’ve been split apart from the rest of the army,’ Gunderic said. ‘And they lost their king. It’s hard to say how long they will be able to hold out.’
Aetius’s frown deepened.
‘Really, Gunderic,’ he said. ‘It won’t do to be repeating some of these things. The Alliance is fragile enough as it is. If word of Theodoric’s death gets around the rest could give in and run.’
‘Your husband has done well,’ Gunderic said. ‘He was personally responsible for repelling at least two attacks on our lines by the Gepids. He has kept the Burgundar shield wall and held his position, as ordered.’
‘Even though he gives every impression that he would rather charge headlong into the enemy in search of personal glory,’ Aetius said with a smirk.
‘I have no worries about Sigurd,’ Gunhild said. ‘Nor should you, General Aetius. He is not the wild barbarian you seem to think he is. What of Hagan?’
‘From what I heard, the fellow has done well so far,’ Aetius said. He went on to relate the desertion of the Alans and the rest of the tale of the battle so far. ‘Wodnas sent him up that ridge to try to take it before the Huns did. Your brother here was furious when he heard Hagan had been moved away from the front ranks. Anyone would think he wanted him dead.’
Gunderic and Gunhild exchanged looks.
‘At Wodnas’ request I’ve ordered cavalry up the ridge to help hold it,’ Aetius went on. ‘We can only pray they can manage that. Otherwise the Visigoths will be surrounded and wiped out. They make up half our army so if they are lost, all is lost.’
There was a moment of sombre silence. They all looked out at the drifting smoke and the clashing armies.
‘Speaking of whom…’ Aetius said at last.
They turned and saw Wodnas riding towards them along the rear of the Roman lines. He was accompanied by two of his Raven Warriors who rode behind him.
‘What is the news from the field?’ Aetius said as the newcomers joined them.
‘General, I bring great news,’ Wodnas said. He was out of breath and uncharacteristically excited. ‘The Visigoth prince, Thorismund, has charged from the ridge. They took the Hun reserves by surprise and routed them. Then they attacked the Ostrogoths from the rear. It broke their attack on the Visigoths. The Visigoths are now advancing on the Huns and their allies attacking our lines. They will hit them from the flanks and rear.’
Aetius looked around at the others. His face lit up with delight.
‘This is our chance!’ he cried. ‘The tide is turned against Attila. Sound the signal horns! Order all cavalry to attack. Throw everything we have at those bastards.’