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The scent of peat clung to the low misty morning air as Lothar walked onto the practice field. He observed more than a hundred men and even a few women wearing leather-padded tunics, and all held some type of shield and weapon. Recognizing the arms most of the group had were swords, short-handled axes, and spears, he also noted some brought bows with a quiver of arrows tied to their backs, while a few men even carried scythes from their own farms. A dozen men stood near a large man sharpening the edges of the blades.
Joining the group, he surveyed the crowd as they assembled around him, then raised his arm to silence their mutterings before he spoke.
“Today, we join together to save the village. Once the ships come into view, they’ll howl like animals to try to terrify you into leaving your position; remember, they are just men, not some creature. Stand strong when you see them. They will have to go through all of us to get to the village.”
“How can we stop them from sailing past us and going up the river?” someone asked.
“We should put some large rocks or trees in the water to run them aground,” offered another.
“There’s not enough time” replied Lothar. “The ships have a shallow draft and will sail over them.”
“How about a rope across the river?”
“The force of the ships would snap the rope; the bow of the ship is very strong.”
“What do you suggest then?”
“Bowmen," Lothar called out, “step forward,”
Fifteen men and two women came forward.
“We will need you to shoot at the ships.”
“What good are arrows?”
“You will shoot flaming arrows at the sail and at the bow of the ship. I need to see the apothecary.”
A man with a long grey beard raised his hand. “Here.”
“I’ll need you to soak some linen strips in oil to attach to the tips of the arrows. Once they are set aflame, they need to remain burning as the bowmen aim for the sail or pierce the ship.”
“Why, they have oars to move the boat.”
“The sail will still burn, and be a distraction, and the burning of the bow and sides will cause the planks of the ship to break apart from their layers, creating irreparable damage.” Lothar waited, gathering from muttering and the nodding they approved. He continued. “The rest of you will stand on shore waiting for them to come. They will not expect it. Some of you will need to go to the other side of the river and guard that side.”
“Why not just this side?”
“We cannot afford for them to gain a strong hold on any land,” Lothar explained.
“How can we defend ourselves against them? There are sixty of them out there on the harbor?”
“The ships will carry a crew of sixteen, and from each ship two men of the sixteen must stay onboard while the others attack. Our best chance is to keep them from coming ashore.”
Lothar heard the crowd groan. “We cannot fight that many. Most of us are farmers, not an army.”
“I understand your fear. I know that you are frightened for your families, and your land. Most of the men on those ships are farmers for most of the year. They’re like you. They do what they must to get by, and others seek their fortune.”
“Whose side are you on Lothar?”
“I fight for my wife’s people.”
“The witch? Where is she? She could probably scare them.”
“No! She is not a witch, and she is where she is needed the most.”
“Lothar, I want to know if we can trust you to be on our side.”
“So is my word, so is my bond. I will fight alongside you.”
The crowd cheered.
“Bowmen, follow me, the rest of you split up, and remember, some of you need to on the other bank of the river.”
Lothar watched the men and women disperse behind trees and tall grasses on each side of the riverbank. He motioned the bowmen to follow him up a short hill overlooking the river. Crouching behind some bushes, he built a small fire on top of the hill while waiting with the men and women as the apothecary prepared the strips of linen.
“Watch for the ships to turn to shore, that’s when you light the arrows and aim at the ships,” instructed Lothar. He watched the group nod before he went back down the hill then stood behind a tree.
The anticipation of attack streaming in his mind, Lothar clutched his sword. He glanced down noting was dressed as one of the men from Droicheda. If the men raiding were from his homeland, they would not recognize him when they attacked, so they wouldn’t heed him. Rubbing his hand over the stubble of his chin, he understood the Lothar they knew had long hair and a beard. Even his tunic with the wolf emblem, Fenris, which they would recognize from a distance, was gone. He still had the one cuff in his pouch, but he had left the pouch in the bed chamber. Even though he was now one of the men from the village, he vowed not to kill if he could avoid it. Lothar did not want to have blood money owed to men fallen when he had been the one to change sides in an attack. He would fight to keep them, his Viking brethren, from advancing further inland.
He noticed a ship being oared up the river with its sail down, then it turned towards the riverbank.
Looking up, he spotted a single arrow stream towards ship, lodging into the dragon-head prow and burned, followed by more arrows into the hull. The men on the ship raised their shields from above the oars.
Lothar spotted more ships coming through the mist. He knew he couldn’t wait any longer.
“Advance!” he yelled, his sword high into the air as he ran towards the landing ships. He noted shock on the faces of the Norse as men appeared from behind trees, rocks and tall grass and ran, yelling and screaming, towards them. He was grateful for the Norse being unprepared, and were forced into battle before their entire force landed, as the men from Droicheada fought against his own countrymen.
He thrust, blocked, kicked, shoved, and maneuvered away from many men, knocking their weapons away or bashing them unconscious. He kept moving, ignoring his own bruises and cuts too, as he engaged another in combat.
Lothar followed as the first groups of Norse backed towards the riverbank. Casting a glance around him, Lothar viewed the villagers fighting, some with fear in their eyes, others with determination to kill the Norse. He stepped forward to battle when he spied another ship load of men joining in their attack. He backed up a few steps, shook his head and prepared to fight more.
Suddenly, Lothar cringed when a loud sound of cats-screeching broke over the clashing of weapons and yelling men. He turned, noting the grating sound caused everyone to cease fighting and turn to see what was making the horrible noise.
He watched as the crowd separated when the sound piercing the air neared. Men backed away as if terrified.
Lothar’s head weaved between the men to get a better look, then the shrilling sound stopped.
The crowd finally separated to give him full view of the ghostly woman riding a large white stallion. A veil of white lace covering her face, her body covered in white. A soft glow emanated off the material of the dress she wore. She carried a sword at her waist and a goblet in her left hand, and handed it down to him.
“Valkyrie.” Lothar raised his left eyebrow and wondered what she was up to.
“I am your Valkyrie,” Dara shouted. “Sent by Odin himself, Thor wishes to join alongside you and your men in battle this day.”
Lothar overheard whispering. “Who is she?”
He glanced around; realizing no one from the village recognized Dara, dressed as one of the Valkyrie Goddesses.
“Valkyrie, is sent here by Odin,” Lothar called out to the crowd. “She sends word that Thor will use Mjolnir in his fight with us against the Norse.”
The high-pitched noise started again, drowning out the cheers from the villagers.
The Norsemen closest to her backed away as she drew her sword as the horse walked forward. The Norse quickly hauled their injured men to the riverbank, loaded the boats and rowed back out to the harbor as the villagers from Droicheada watched from the riverbank.
Slowly shaking his head, Lothar closed his eyes, thankful that her clever ruse worked. Opening his eyes he scowled towards her for taking a chance with her life, to be killed in battle or captured. Newly married to her, he wanted to spend more than just one night with her as her husband.
The piercing blast continued as the woman playing the wooden pipes walked to the riverbank, finally stopping after the ships had gone.
“Thank you Amena, you played wonderfully,” said Dara.
“Thank you, but it was your idea,” bowed Amena.
“To the Valkyrie!” someone yelled. “She protected us.” The crowd around them cheered.
“This Valkyrie, you claim your gratitude to,” Lothar began, “Is my wife, Dara, The High Priestess.”
Dara pushed the veil over her head and held her head high.
“The witch!” Someone else yelled”
“No witch, but a clever woman who saved your village.”
“Our king would have saved us.”
“I am the King’s answer, fight as we did; no other help was coming from other kingdoms.”
“We didn’t need their help.”
“This time, I wouldn’t be too sure about the next time.” Lothar heard the crowd grumble to one another. Turning, he jumped onto the horse behind Dara.
“Let’s go.”
“Where to?”
“Home, where I can truly worship the Goddess you are.”
