Our entry into the town couldn’t have been better timed. It was late afternoon and the members of the guard at the gates before us, were in the process of changing over. One of them, a beard as bright as flame and with sharper eyes than his fellows, was giving our group, and me in particular, a close scrutiny. I’m certain that he was about to call to us when the relieving guardsmen clattered into the small courtyard inside the gate. Alfred had seen him and while he was distracted, smoothly grabbed my sleeve and swept me through the entrance close behind the creaking wagon. That was the first hurdle successfully crossed. If only they would all be that easy.
~ ~ ~
The farming family that we had attached ourselves to, seemed to know a good many people and frequently stopped to exchange news and to drink from one of the mead tubs. It was like being part of a processional party, the farther we went, the more stops we had and the more ebullient the folk became.
It wasn’t long before we were being treated as old friends, one of the farmer’s sturdy daughters began to pay me a good deal of attention. She mistook my hesitant speech as being affected by the wine and excitement and happily fell in beside me and chattered away about their life on their hill farm. It appeared that the Viking women were the family leaders when it came to finance and domestic arrangements. She told me that her name was Hild and that, after the holiday, she was due to take her turn on the Steep Holme fortress, making and mending clothing for the military as well as cooking and helping with ship maintenance and building. Something they all did on a roster system, almost the women’s equivalent of our Fyrd. What a good idea I thought, perhaps we could use it too.
Eventually of course, the rather one-sided conversation came around to ourselves She knew that we were Britons of course but wanted to know who we were and what we did. I was bumbling my way towards an improbable conclusion, explaining ourselves as purely wandering musicians, when we were interrupted by the simultaneous arrival of our party and the returning Viking army at the town square.
Hild told me that her father would be one of the returning soldiers and her family were going to meet him. Sweetly trusting, she asked if we would keep an eye on their wagon for a few moments while she went with them to see him and welcome him home. I tried to explain that we had to set up a pitch and begin earning our supper. She smiled.
‘You can set up here, right beside our stall.’
As she left, Hild promised to be back quickly and would bring her elder brother Brent to look after the wagon, so that maybe she could listen to a song or two.
In effect, the first premise of our mission had been broken, that of keeping away from trouble. It seemed as though I had walked right into its open arms.
‘We could leave the wagon to its own devices and clear off.’ suggested Alfred. ‘But then of course, when they came back to find its contents raided there would be a devil of a hue-and-cry. And we would end up giving a terminal performance. These people are very strict on law breakers and will always demand the highest available penalty. That for us, as foreigners, is the maximum.’
‘I’m sorry Sire.....’
‘Shush! Don’t call me that. Not here.’ he hissed. ‘You never know who’s listening.’
‘We’ll move on our way as soon as they get back then.’ I said, adding. ‘In the meantime, let’s give these ruffians a taste of sweet music.’
We were after all invited to use the spot, so we quickly got ready. I felt a bit foolish wearing the cap with its bells but soon forgot my embarrassment as I quickly tuned my harp and we set about a couple of sets of short ballads. Our performance didn’t result in any rewards, but it didn’t attract any aggression either. So far, so good.
‘We’ll stay near Hild and her family.’ said Alfred cautiously. ‘Her father’s just back from successful raiding and they’ll be full of interesting, useful news.’ he frowned at me as he added. ‘Keep away from the ladies though, they can lead to trouble here. The menfolk can be very jealous.’
By the time Hild returned with Brent, her bear of a brother, we had gathered ourselves a modest audience of early revellers and had been successful in as much as we had collected a number of invitations to play later in the night. Our use of the language was improving by the minute. Hild’s brother started to set up the produce on the family’s stall and, a little too roughly pushed us to one side. This provoked an angry response from several our listeners and an argument flared. Hild I suppose, felt responsible for us being where we were and, being a well built girl, pushed her way through the gathering crowd to come to our assistance.
By chance, I happened to be still sitting on a grain sack, having given up with the harp during the rowdy eruption. Hild was either pushed, or she tripped. But either way she fell headlong against me and giggling, we both tumbled to the straw covered ground. I was surprised to see a look of horror on the faces of the people around us and before we could get back on our feet a bellowing voice ordered a couple of brawny Norse guardsmen to grab and hold us. I felt rough hands grab me by each arm and another removing the dagger from its sheath at my belt.
As he pulled his sister to her feet I saw that her dress had been torn at the neck and her hair had tumbled to fall about her face and throat. The look of pure hatred and anger that Brent focused on us captivated me, just as a mouse is paralysed when beset by a hawk.
Hild must have known what was in store because she started to plead quietly with her brother to let us go but he sent her away.
‘It was an accident sir. I meant only to stop the lady falling.’ I managed to say in my faltering way.
‘That’s not how it looked to me.’ snarled the young man. He moved towards me, his face so close to mine, I could feel his hot breath and anger. ‘British pig, we will teach you some manners.’
He spat on the earth at my feet. ‘Bring them both to my father.’ he ordered the guards.
The crowd that gathered around us now was very different to that which we had entertained. Like a band of children about a playground fight, they thronged close to get a look at the British troublemakers. Eager to revel in the violence that they all sensed. A blurred wall of jeering faces parted quickly in front of me as we were shoved through the crowded square towards the large, dominating Moot Hall on the far side.
Once inside the building, things quietened down as most of the crowd was held outside, those that did manage to slip through were as overawed as us by the sight of the long, brightly decorated hall in which we found ourselves.
Alfred and I were half dragged towards a group of well dressed men grouped about a roaring log fire and were forced to our knees. With some disinterest they turned and gave us a disdainful glance. One of the men, dressed in expensive furs with several gold chains about his neck saw Brent and came towards us, an impatient anger showing on the pale, scarred features of a professional warrior.
‘What’s the meaning of this.’ he hissed aggressively to Brent. ‘Do you intend to embarrass me further.’ he gestured towards us. ‘And who the blazes is this.’
I could see that Brent was summoning up his resolution and courage. ‘These curs are British filth, come to beg from our generous people.’ he said, and catching my hair with his big hand, he pulled my head back. ‘I caught this one trying to assault my sister. Your daughter Hild.’
The big man came forward to look at me, his anger seemed to have been set to boiling and was about to bubble over.
I caught the briefest of glimpses of a fist the size of a hammer before I felt the crash of it hitting me in the face.
‘Is this true. Pig’ the old warrior asked me. It wasn’t until I had started to answer that I realised he had spoken to me in British.
‘No, good sir.’ I answered in the same language. ‘We beg your pardon, but there was an argument in the square and the lady was pushed. I tried to stop her falling, but I couldn’t hold her.’
He turned to Alfred and looked deeply into his face. ‘I seem to know you from somewhere.’ he said pausing reflectively. ‘Is it true what your friend says.’
‘Indeed it is my Lord Halfdan.’ answered Alfred, returning the Viking’s stare without a sign of trepidation. Then in the Norse tongue he added. ‘We are minstrels, wandering as we will sir. I have had the honour of playing for you, in this very hall, just last year.’ Alfred’s smile was full of complete innocence.
‘Maybe, maybe.’ muttered Halfdan. He turned towards Brent. ‘Are you sure of your facts. Did you actually see what happened. A crowded market place seems a strange place to carry out an assault, such as you say.’
‘He was on top of her. They were on the ground.’ Brent’s voice was becoming shrill. ‘Father, I demand the law’s penalty. We...the People, must see justice.’
He grabbed my right hand from my guard and held it out towards Halfdan. ‘The offending hand must be removed.’ he announced, becoming steadier. ‘I will do it, if you wish.’
The old warrior didn’t move, his gaze focussed on the young man and bore deeply into his soul. He must have seen what he looked for.
‘I have spoken with your sister. Did you think that she would not come straight to me.’ the big man’s voice became a rumbling whisper. ‘Don’t call me ‘father’. You are nought but a bastard. Aye, and one who has no gift from me. You are as your mother. A liar and a coward.’
The young man’s face paled in temper and rage, his fingers dug into the flesh of my forearm.
‘Father. Sir you can’t say that......I’ve..’
The flash of polished steel was dazzling as it swung in an arc.
Instantly, even before the razor edge could bite, I imagined the pain of lacerated flesh and sinew. The agony of cracked and severed bones.
The stickiness of blood gushed against my arm and flowed quickly to form a crimson pool on the floor. The pinching grip of the hand on my arm eased and it fell to the floor. A bloody pulp where its wrist had been.
Both Brent and I looked at it foolishly, in shocked disbelief. A bitterness rose in my throat and I swallowed desperately. Brent’s knees buckled and whimpering, he sank slowly to the floor clutching the spurting stump to his chest.
‘Release them.’ ordered Halfdan, turning away. ‘And put fire to the wound. Use pitch to dress it.’
The two soldiers released us, one moved to the hearth and picked out a flaming brand, the other ripped away at the tattered, soaking sleeve that covered the hideous mutilation.
It was as well that Brent had fainted, the shock and pain that was coming his way would probably have killed him. As the two men roughly cauterised the wound, Brent’s eyes flashed open, staring sightlessly, his back arched and his mouth stretched wide in a silent scream.
‘Take him to his mother, I don’t want to have to see his miserable hide again.’ said the Viking Lord, then, turning to Alfred and I. ‘You two, go and collect your things and play for us.’
We picked up the weapons that had been taken from us and made our way outside, weaving through the gathering of twittering onlookers. At the door to the Hall we met a sobbing Hild, she had heard what had befallen her half brother and had seen him as he was carried away. She came with us, back to the family stall where not a thing had been touched, and now we knew why.
‘I guessed what Brent was going to do. But oh, I didn’t want this to happen.’ she blurted. ‘I had to stop him. He’d been branded a coward on some battlefield, and father had sent him to run the market stall as a demeaning punishment.’ another sob stole her breath and shook her body.
‘I think he saw accusing you of insulting the family honour, as a way of restoring some of his credibility.’ she sighed, tears rolling steadily down her apple cheeks. ‘Brent is no good in a land battle. Never has been, he hates it. But you should watch him at sea. He can pilot a ship anywhere, faster and better than anyone.’
‘We are in your debt ma’am.’ said Alfred. ‘May we see you to your home, we have been ordered back to the Hall to play for his lordship.’
‘Thank you sir, but I have to set up our produce stall. Father insists that all of us do our share in the settlement...That’s why I’m going to Steep Holme to work for a spell.’ she looked at me with wide dark eyes that involuntarily stirred something within my soul. ‘You could come back later to keep me company...if you like.’
‘That would be nice.’ I mumbled with embarrassment. ‘But I guess that will depend if they like us or not.’
Alfred laughed a rattley chuckle. ‘Come on with you Ranulf, we’ve work to see to, and a dinner to earn.’ he bowed to Hild. ‘You’ll see him again, I’m sure of it.’
We collected our few belongings and rescued the harp from the grubby fingers of a small child. Everything was intact, something that wouldn’t have happened at home, by now everything would have been gone and probably most of it already re-sold.
Quickly, we made our way back to the Hall where we were made to wait at the entrance while a guard went to check our story.
‘You’ve certainly chosen the right day to come here.’ confided the guard captain. ‘We’ve a special visitor arriving today. That’s why we can’t just let you by.’
‘Any idea who is coming?’ asked Alfred.
‘Course I know.’ the guard said sharply. ‘But I can’t tell the likes of you.’
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of some slave labourers carrying wine casks. Our well informed guardsman directed them to the kitchen, but only after taking a generous sample. Just to check its quality of course, such an onerous duty, he told us with a grin.
Eventually we were ushered into the main Hall by a harassed servant who bade us wait for orders and to stand out of the way.
The place had been transformed into a lavishly furnished banqueting room. Long, sturdy tables had been brought, and set out around the edges of the Hall. On each table was an enormous wooden bowl of mixed fruits flanked by platters of sweet-cakes and unusual biscuits. The table nearest the hearth had been draped with a fine white cloth and the tableware was all in gold and silver.
‘I’ve a feeling that the very person that I dreaded meeting is going to turn up.’ said Alfred, his sharp eyes taking in the preparations. ‘Which will mean two things.’ he counted them off on long slim fingers. ‘One, that something big is going to happen, and two, we will have to beat a very hasty and discreet retreat.’
‘I assume you mean the Viking King.’ I whispered. ‘Perhaps we should anticipate his arrival by going now.’
‘I’m inclined to agree, but we must, if we can, find out what it is they are planning.’
‘The most likely place to find that out is in the slave’s quarters or in the kitchens.’ I suggested.
‘Mm...You’re probably right” said Alfred. ‘It would serve our cause well if we found out any news quickly. Off you go to the kitchen, while you’re there see if you can scrounge some food. It’ll help keep your mind off that young woman that’s eager to see you again.’
I blushed and mumbled. ‘Oh...I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
I found the kitchen, which was on the same level as the Main Hall and reached through a narrow corridor that I found behind a small curtained doorway. It was abuzz with excitement and frantic activity. Slaves and kitchen hands were running in every direction with amazingly few clashes or accidents. My presence caused a stir and a hoarse British voice roared at me to get out of the way. From the string of abuse that followed, it was obvious that the perpetrator thought I couldn’t understand his language.
I managed to find a quieter corner on some steps leading to an outside door. From here I could overlook the frenzied preparations and hopefully pick out someone who was likely to help. Initially it seemed as though everyone was busy doing what the screaming cooks directed, but eventually I noticed some isolated islands of comparable serenity. One was in a corner not far from me, where a couple of girls sat on the floor peeling what looked like turnips, one girl was very young and the older seemed to have an air of unreality floating about her, probably half mad I decided.
The other patch of calm order was just beyond them, near the hearths of the open cooking fires with their piles of glowing embers. A sweating youth, half naked, tended the bread ovens and the spitted carcasses of two large pigs. His red hair and heavy build gave him away as being able to claim Viking ancestry on at least one side of his parentage. He’d be the one I thought. Carefully choosing a route through the mayhem, dodging and weaving around the charging scullions, I made my way towards him, he seemed so intent on his work that he didn’t notice my approach.
‘Hello there.’ I tried. ‘Could you tell me where I could get some supper.’
‘No good you talking to him.’ came a warbling voice from below my left elbow.
I turned, and trying to lift a vegetable sack from a pile was the young woman I’d labelled as crazy.
‘Ole Halfdan beat him and now he can’t hear or speak.’ she twittered, then in British, added. ‘Halfdan they call him, Halfman would be more like.’
‘My partner and I are supposed to be playing for his lordship tonight.’ I confided, lifting the heavy sack for her. ‘Do you know where we could get some supper.’
‘You’ll have to ask Cook. She’ll say if’n you can have some.’ she clucked and bustled like a mother hen. ‘You might get beat if you just takes it. They’ll say you stole it and then you’d be for it.’ she nodded to herself.
‘I’ll see her straight away.’ I promised. ‘It’s going to be a tremendous party isn’t it. All this beautiful food.’ I gestured around at the steaming pans with their giggling lids, the trays of glistening sweet cakes and the sizzling carcasses of the huge porkers.
‘It’s been a mountain-full of hard work.’ she dragged the sack from my helping grasp and slashed open its top with a sweep of her razor-sharp knife. ‘I must get on, or Cook’ll have my hide for a pot cloth.’
‘Who’s it all for. Is there anyone else coming to the Hall tonight.’
‘You mean you haven’t heard. You must be the stupidest man in the whole of the world.’ her lips pouted into a series of clucks and her head nodded like an autumn leaf.
‘We’ve been travelling through the country and are out of touch.’ I explained. ‘If it’s going to be someone special then we’d better know, so’s we can dig out some flattering songs.’
‘You’d better make sure they are good’uns then, cause it’s old Hobbs hi’self.’ she chuckled at her risky joke. ‘Our King is already here and you’d better watch out.’
She turned her back and, full of enthusiasm, busied herself with her task. I wondered if her mind could be trusted. If the Viking devil was here already, then I should help Alfred to escape immediately.
As nonchalantly as I could, I moved back to the steps I had used before. Carefully, I opened the heavy narrow door and slid quickly through the gap, closing the door behind me. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness after the fire-bright kitchen.
In front of me was the wall of another building, a blank wall with a low roof. To my right a guard stood in front of a wide, barred doorway. A food store perhaps I thought. Further to the right I could see the corner of the Hall building, silhouetted against the strongly flickering light of a bonfire that was burning on the market square.
To my left, down the alleyway formed by the granary and the Hall it was inky dark, but not far down that way I could hear the tell-tale stomp and shuffle of tethered horses. Whether it was a stable or a tethered string, I couldn’t be certain but it seemed reasonable that a guard of sorts would be on duty there too.
I let myself back into the scramble of the kitchen and, on my way through, an assistant cook thrust a tray of cold meat and bread into my arms with orders to deliver it to the guard room. I smiled and took the tray along the link passageway and into the Great Hall.
At the far end, much where I had left him I spotted Alfred. He was strumming on a lute that he must have picked up somewhere, and singing a quiet ballad to a group of drinkers. He didn’t see me struggling through the pressing crowd with the large tray of supper. I put the tray onto a handy table, knocking over one or two beer mugs, and quickly thrust the cold slices of meat and a half of the loaf into my golden brown minstrel’s cap that I’d turned inside out to silence the string of tinkling bells.
With comparative ease now, I wove through the expectant party goers to reach a calmly singing Alfred. Smiling, I bent to his ear,
‘Their King is here, follow me. Quickly.’ I whispered through the fixed grin.
Without a break, he skilfully brought the ballad to an end and started straight into a lively jig. Without warning he jumped up, bowed to the slightly startled audience, and grasped one of my shoulders,
‘Dance on.’ he called with a wink.
Waving to all as we passed in our madly hopping, cavorting jig we laced our way through the crowd and the noise towards the kitchen passage. We were only steps away from it when a bellowing of horns erupted from the curtained stairway to the private apartments and everybody stood still, suddenly subdued. A rumble of murmuring was just discernible to our strained and tensed minds. Stealthily we moved slowly towards the passageway. Another step and I would be able to see into it.
Facing me, at the head of a waiting procession, was the grotesquely burned and distorted face of a roasted pig. The slaves were lining up making ready to bring in the banquet.
‘Damn it!’ I said, if we’d been just moments quicker, we would have been outside by now.
Before we could move back into the crowd, a troop of four guards came down the stairs followed by the now familiar Halfdan, several well dressed women in flowing silks with gossamer veils. And last of all, a tall, regal looking man whose silent, but vibrant personality seemed to ripple through the air above the floor. Halfdan’s eyes swept across the court audience before him, they flickered with an instance of recognition and he gave a nod here and there to those in the forefront of the throng.
And by my error, that is where he found us.
‘Come minstrels.’ he shouted, and pointed at me. ‘You...show me that it was worth sparing your wretched paw. Play us a stirring anthem for our Chieftain.’
My fingers trembled as they grasped for the frame of the Harp. Foolishly perhaps, we hadn’t planned anything for this sort of event. We had assumed that they would have their own musicians and in any case, we would be hidden in the background. As they continued their progression down the stairs to the floor of the main hall, I dashed into the first thing I could think of. It was a slightly embellished version of one of our good British drinking songs.
The words were slightly bawdy, and too late, I remembered that the old warlord could speak our language. But I forged on. Alfred’s face changed from horror to amusement as he began an energetic accompaniment on a borrowed Tabor. Those that understood no other language than their own smiled happily and, here and there, feet tapped against the lively rhythm.
The sound was similar to the bellow of an enraged bull and it stopped us dead in mid phrase. ‘You dare to insult us!’ roared Halfdan, flecks of foam gathered on the moustaches at the corners of his mouth. ‘Guards...You men, take them. Tonight I will toast the defeat of all British when we drink the blood of these pigs.’
The people around us dithered in an uncertain panic and provided us with an effective barrier against the charging guardsmen. Hysterical screams and bellows of angry rage rang in my ears as I led the way, ducking and weaving, towards the kitchen corridor.
At the crouch, our pace didn’t alter as we sped by the slaves, ducking under their heavily laden trays and dishes. As we passed each load of festival fare Alfred knocked the bearer over, spilling the contents of trays, platters and steaming tureens into a slick, slippery mess in our wake.
At a full gallop we swept into the kitchen. The Granary guard, aroused by the sound of trouble, had come to investigate and although startled, he tried to bar our way. I drew the slender blade of my dagger from its sheath and, in the same motion, swiftly stroked it across the corded throat below the pale face. Alcohol had slowed his reactions and he was dead before his toppling body fell into the shimmering embers of the cooking fire. Almost instantly, flames burst around and through him, quickly they began to lick hungrily at the pools of melted pork fat and upwards to the wooden frame above the hearth
Our way was clear now, but probably not for long and, dagger in hand, I led the way through the debris of preparation. Up the stone steps to the rear door that stood open against the chilled velvet of night. With a free hand I grabbed a torch from the sconce next to the door frame.
‘Wait, just two shakes Sire.’ I searched the kitchen area behind us and passed the flaring torch to Alfred. ‘Opposite is a granary with a low roof. Set it alight my lord, it will divert some attention from us.’
Turning back towards the pile of empty vegetable sacks, I grabbed the thin bony arm that protruded from its owner’s hiding place.
‘Please don’t harm us sir. We’re just poor slave girls.’ the slightly crazed look was shadowed by an open expression of terror.
I pulled them both out and, herding them in my arms, pushed them to the open door.
‘There’s going to be trouble, take your little sister and run to the slave quarters.’ urgently I pushed them both through the doorway. ‘Run. Now!’
Still she hesitated and I waved her on. As they tottered off she called over her shoulder. ‘She’s not me sister sir. She’s me baby.’
And they were gone, blending quickly into the gloom behind the spreading flames that had begun to eat into the thatched fuel of the low granary roof.
I caught Alfred’s arm and we moved into the rapidly deepening shadows of the narrow lane.
‘Down this way Sire. I heard horses.’ I whispered. ‘But there could be a guard.’
No sooner had I given speech to my thoughts, when a broad form appeared, his face lit by the growing fire as he peered skywards. We crouched against the storehouse wall and he was so distracted from his duty that he stumbled noisily right by us. He would be a useful misdirecting witness later I thought, when the chase intensified. Carefully we made our way to the end of the lane where the walls of the two buildings turned their opposite ways.
It was the work of only a few pounding heartbeats for each of us to release a horse apiece and swing onto its back. They had been tethered to a low rope in a line and, although saddles had been removed, they still had bridles fitted, the reins knotted onto the trace. Alfred swung himself easily onto the back of his beast. The animal I had chosen must have sensed my nervousness, because it pranced in a tight circle, its large teeth clashing once or twice only a hairs breadth from my most tender of places. The sound of shouts and a growing furore from the other end of the lane lent a springiness to my heels and, with a firm handful of mane, I scrambled onto the back of the jumpy creature.
By instinct, Alfred led us off, slowly and as quietly as possible, to the right, following the line of the granary wall and moving away from the noise and shouting.
It had been a good choice, for we were soon riding through deserted streets. At the town walls, a bleary eyed, wobbly sentry stood to one side and gave us free exit. Once outside we urged the horses into a long cantering stride and headed towards the North West. Towards the dubious shelter of the unfriendly kingdom of Gwent.