THE SIEGE OF THE HEALFDENE
Veni, vidi, vici. (I came, I saw, I conquered.)
—JULIUS CAESAR, ACCORDING TO SUETONIUS AND PLUTARCH
Sea Wife tugged hard at the rudder, much as a restive horse struggles with the bit to free itself of constraint. With her sail straining against the rigging, she plowed across the narrow sea in company with forty other ships and a force of over a thousand men. Under a black night sky, with summer warming the sea and the ship’s planks, the fleet headed slowly towards Skania. The warriors of the traitorous outlaw, Stormbringer, were going to war against their ancient allies, the Geats of Gothland, so the brief hours of darkness hid the size of the large fleet under the Sae Dene’s command.
Men sang as they honed their weapons to razor-sharpness. Around him, rising like white birds, Arthur could hear stirring tales from the eager crews spiraling upward to greet the night breeze. He caught the sense in fragments of the songs, especially those that told heroic tales of great warriors who fought and died in cataclysmic battles against foreign kings, monsters, or the gods themselves. Arthur felt hot blood rise to his head in response; this day could, indeed, be a good day to die.
Such singing was worthy of Taliesin himself, yet these sturdy men were simple warriors who were unused to the poetry of bards. Their voices were coarse and lacking in any training or musicality, yet their songs almost stopped his heart with their beauty. Without the assistance of musical instruments, their voices wove the tune: some voices were high and almost womanish, while others were strong baritones that intimated a sense of power.
When Arthur thought back, he realized that the Dene sang often—when they were happy or sad, for weddings and funerals, before a battle and after a disaster. To these barbarians, song was an essential part of every aspect of daily life, as vital as breath, water, or food for the belly.
Long ago, when he was still a boy, Arthur had been educated in the battles of the past, so Father Lorcan had related tales of long-distant campaigns such as the doomed battle of Thermopylae in the city-states of ancient Greece. Arthur had never forgotten the tears of sympathy that prickled at the back of his eyes when he heard the tale of that memorable day for the very first time.
According to Lorcan, the last of the Spartan soldiers had oiled and braided each other’s hair during those final hours as they readied themselves for the battle that would take place on the morrow. Even after many days of death and mayhem, each man had decided that he would go to Hades looking his best. In some cases, the Spartans had nothing left to fight with other than their teeth, their fingernails, or the shards of their broken swords. But, in the morning when the Persians massed to kill them off, the defenders fought and killed their enemies and dragged out the inevitable until the last Spartan fell, singing joyfully. All that the Persians received were songs of defiance as their enemies died, contemptuous to the end.
Arthur had mourned for the ancient days of reckless courage, matched with disciplined sacrifice, that were now long gone.
But as the convoy plowed onward, the young Briton could see how wrong his assumptions might have been. These Dene warriors would welcome death if their honor could be left intact and their heart’s blood was needed for a noble cause.
Over the previous months, the fleet had assembled gradually as Stormbringer and his guests rested at The Holding and enjoyed the sweet, hot days of early summer.
Maeve developed a sprinkling of attractive freckles across her nose as she helped Stormbringer’s sister with the mundane details of domestic life on a farm. Blaise wove wool and amazed the other women as she displayed her remarkable skills, while Eamonn exercised his very able tongue to charm and bed any number of willing girls. Arthur smiled indulgently as he practiced his swordsmanship in the warm sunshine.
Eamonn had laughed at Arthur’s single-mindedness. “When will you fall in love, Arthur? Or at least enjoy a mild flirtation? I’ve seen you with several beauties, and you’ve bedded them too, if Maeve is correct. But your heart hasn’t been touched at all. You aren’t natural!”
“I’m unnatural? You’re always dying of love for some girl or another, while I never seem to meet one who would be worth living with for twenty days—least of all twenty years. But the girls fill the hours, I suppose.”
“You’re a devil, Arthur!” Eamonn was a little shocked by his friend’s bluntness. “They say that when men like you fall, they can really tumble into love.”
Arthur laughed with lighthearted humor. Silken thighs existed to be kissed, stroked, or used as a conduit to the softness of every woman’s greatest weakness, her sex. He was a practiced lover, after a somewhat slow start to his education. After he discovered the erogenous zones that governed the gates to every woman’s pleasure, he came to understand that men were hot, quick to arouse and, just as quickly, forget the experience, while women were slow to feel the heat rise in their bellies and genitals but, once the fires were lit, their pleasure grew stronger and stronger, and forced the patient man to be set alight until he drowned in female eroticism. Once a man tasted such fruit, he realized that a casual, quick slaking of lust was never acceptable again. Arthur was a master of this latter form of lovemaking and his respect for women was limitless, but . . .
“Admit it, Arthur. There are too many wonderful women in the world to settle on just one.” As usual, Eamonn was right.
While they waited, the ships began to arrive at the sheltered cove where Sea Wife lay on the beach at the high-tide line. Men came as well, tall and grim warriors shamed by their king’s failure to protect their Dene kinfolk. In haste and desperation, Valdar Bjornsen had sent out a call to arms, and all right-spirited men heard his message, although the Sae Dene’s name was never mentioned openly among Hrolf Kraki’s loyalists in Heorot. At the slightest mention of Stormbringer, Hrolf Kraki lost his temper. One unfortunate jarl who invoked the memory of the great Bjorn, Valdar’s father, had been slapped and kicked by the king’s guard until he fell to the ground. He was left to lie in a shivering and shocked huddle of armor and blood until the Crow King’s attention was diverted by other imagined ills.
Those warriors who remained loyal to their memories of the Crow King of long ago still tried to find excuses for his failure to honor his treaties, but more and more of the disaffected Dene came to join Stormbringer’s fledgling army.
Some volunteers were rascals and cheats, and were more suited to signing on as mercenaries than as warriors of honor, but when Stormbringer explained that there would be no payment other than an equal division of the spoils, the worst of the ruffians departed. Most of the volunteers came because they had suffered as victims of Hrolf Kraki’s intemperate rage.
Rufus Olaffsen and Thorketil came, both out of a desire to fulfill their oaths and because they had nowhere else to go where they could wield their swords with honor. The Troll King, as Thorketil had taken to calling himself, had healed as well as he ever would. His right leg was encased in a sleeve of iron and leather so it could bear his weight. With a full staff to redistribute the weight of his massive body, he could walk, although very slowly. But he could row, and easily took the place of two men while, in any fray, he was able to stand upright and surround himself in a ring of swinging metal. Rufus guarded his back, for the two men had become almost friendly as they convalesced and, finally, they had agreed to place the blame for their injuries and their individual humiliations squarely on the head of Hrolf Kraki.
Ivar Hnaefssen remembered his vows, even though scouts warned him that Anglii warriors were massing on the frontiers of his own lands. His youngest son, Vermund, led a force of thirty men who had been split between the two promised ships. Stormbringer met the young jarl personally on the shelving beach, embraced him warmly, and welcomed him to The Holding.
“I know how important your thirty good men are to your father at such a perilous time as now. The frontiers are boiling with tension and our king is far away in his thoughts, if not in actuality, so he won’t move to warn off any aggressors. Your assistance is a matter of great importance to the Dene people—and we thank you and your father, who is a true man of honor.”
“I was angry at first when my father ordered me to come here. I believed he was trying to protect me from the Anglii warriors that are certain to cross our borders.” Vermund examined his toes with a shamefaced expression. “But my father took pains to show me that the debt was owed. How can we expect aid from other jarls if we show no loyalties ourselves? I am here as his representative and as proof of his personal regard for you. We are hoping that you and yours will respond in turn if, as is almost certain, the Anglii enter our lands and we require assistance.”
“There’s no need for oaths or high-flown language between men of honor, Vermund. It only requires a handshake between you and me. If you need my help, I’ll come, as will my kin, in answer to any call for assistance from your clan. Although I’m a Sae Dene, we are both jarls and our oaths are iron-clad.”
Vermund saw the sincerity in Stormbringer’s eyes and was comforted. He had feared to leave his father’s lands, for Ivar had grown old and his two other sons were not the warriors that their father had been. However, his brothers were more than able to obey the orders of their sire and would fight to the death to protect their broad acres. Stormbringer’s oath convinced him that this man would always keep his word. They would be assisted by the Sae Dene if the Anglii, or the Jutes, attacked their lands in force.
The men embraced and walked up the long, shelving beach. For Vermund and Valdar Bjornsen, the point of no return had passed.
Frodhi kept his word and ten ships arrived, fully armed with crews and fighting men loyal to their master, although Stormbringer’s cousin remained at Heorot.
Stormbringer understood his cousin very well and the duties that kept him there. As a member of the ruling family, he was bound to the Crow King by the sacred oaths and responsibilities of kinship, so Frodhi was caught in a moral dilemma. To send ships and men to another kinsman was a betrayal of sorts, but Frodhi had chosen to do so, while refusing to give the public support that his own presence would have excited.
Stormbringer had called to his other kinsmen and they responded to his summons. As well, neighboring jarls from the islands between Heorot and Skania measured their safety by the distance across the small body of water called the Sound. When their loyalty to Hrolf Kraki was measured, they found that the peril from Geat aggression was more pressing than abstract issues of loyalty. Any fool could see that if Skania fell, then so would all the Dene Islands along the Sound’s narrows. The Crow King could afford to be high-handed from the safety of Heorot, but the island jarls looked towards Gothland with jaundiced eyes.
And so, once forty ships had been assembled and every spare patch of land at The Holding was groaning with armed warriors, Stormbringer decided that the time for action had come. Calling Arthur and Eamonn to him before commencing his council of war, Stormbringer asked the Britons to declare their intentions.
Arthur looked at Stormbringer blankly. “I’ll fight alongside you, Stormbringer. You’ve treated us like guests, rather than captives, and you’ve saved our lives on a number of occasions. We’re not fair-weather friends! As much as Hrolf Kraki owes you a debt for your bravery, so do we owe debts of honor to you for your generosity towards us.”
Arthur grinned. “I must sound very formal, but you bring this stuffiness out in me, my friend.” He began to laugh at the surprised expression on the face of the Sae Dene. “Personally, I’d follow you anywhere out of loyalty and friendship, but I have practical motives as well. You hold the keys to our return to Britain, so I’d be a fool to spurn any endeavor to which you have committed your men and your word. Besides, Hrolf Kraki is no friend of mine. But for your intercession, he would have killed my sister out of hand. He refused to accept our victories in single combat and he refused to accept us as equals. I have no loyalty towards the Crow King and would willingly do him harm, if I had such an opportunity.”
“Well said, Arthur,” Eamonn agreed. “I agree with you and I will also be traveling with you to Skania. We don’t know where we’re going, but I’m sure you’ll eventually tell us.”
“And we’d be grateful if our sisters could be kept safely at The Holding,” Arthur added.
“Of course, Arthur! Both your sisters are welcome to stay for as long as they wish.” Stormbringer was very serious, as if he was embarrassed.
Wisely, Arthur said nothing.
The day of departure came with many tears. Because they had wailed at the sight of their father cleaning his weapons, Stormbringer’s daughters were chided gently by their aunt, so the little girls tried to control their sobbing. Some of the older women also wept to see their sons depart, but theirs was a restrained grief.
As the warriors moved towards the beach, Maeve came running, her arms filled with daisy chains. Gently, she crowned Eamonn, then her brother and, finally, she asked Stormbringer to bend his head. Quickly, before he could change his mind, she placed the last daisy crown upon his amber curls.
“Hail to our Three Warriors of God! You do His good work—and so you will come safely home to us. We love you!”
Her words were lost in the wind as Stormbringer and the Britons trotted to Sea Wife and joined with the rest of the crew as they pushed her keel back into deeper water. Once they had clambered aboard and hurried onto their rowing benches, the warriors put their shoulders to the oars and the ship turned and shot away as it gained some assistance from the light breeze. As they left the cove and entered the waters of the Sound, the sun was sinking slowly into the sea.
Somehow, Arthur and Eamonn both lost their daisy chains while they were rowing vigorously away from the shore, but Stormbringer stood beside the rudder and removed his crown himself. As Arthur watched surreptitiously, Stormbringer lifted the string of daisies from his tangled hair, held them briefly to his nose and his lips, then placed them inside his clothing so that the bruised blossoms rested over his heart.
Ahead of the fleet, the land had fast become a darkened spool before them, except for the glow of moonlight on the white beaches. On Stormbringer’s order, the fleet turned to port, and the forty ships began their long, slow prowl up the coast of Skania.
When Arthur had asked Stormbringer for their destination, the captain had explained that while the centers of both the Fervir and Hallin clans were close to the Sound, these tribes had already been betrayed and their populations had been overrun by the Geats. To the north, the Vagus River cut deeply into the landmass, and this fast-flowing flood emanated from a great inland lake called Wener. Years earlier, the Dene had fought a decisive battle against the Geats on the margins of this lake, and their success had won them a large stretch of land that extended from the confluence of rivers in the north controlled by the Ragnaricii clan to the southern tip where the Bergio clan held sway.
“Is there a great town at the entrance to this lake?” Arthur asked.
“Town is too large a description! It’s a village that comes to life in the spring and summer when the king and favorites among the court and his army arrive for a time of feasting when war is no impediment to their pleasure. We describe the place as Västergötland, the name of a province taken from the Geats who inhabit this rich area. It’s populated by farmers and a few rich traders who live near the confluence of the Vagus and Lake Wener. In spring and summer there are markets and trading houses that enrich the township.”
Eamonn cocked his head sideways and grinned disarmingly at Stormbringer. “So the Geats finally became sick of the Dene controlling the west coast of their country, not to mention being so close to their richest and most favored army bivouac! The Geat king must flinch whenever he swims in his lake for fear of Dene arrows being trained on him.”
His observations were only marginally short of rudeness, so Arthur’s cheeks flushed at his companion’s tone and effrontery.
Fortunately, Stormbringer chose to overlook Eamonn’s slip in manners. “Of course! But we have always feared attack from our backs, so we have ensured we have a strong and self-sufficient colony behind our flanks. We don’t want to control all of Gothland—just a coastal strip that will always be a strong buffer between two warring races. As yet, we’ve kept to our part of the bargain for more than four hundred years.”
“He’s caught you fairly, Eamonn,” Arthur retorted. “Why would the Dene attack the Västergötland? It’s upriver, and we’d be surrounded by hostile warriors.”
“We have traded with Västergötland for generations, and we’ve lived side by side with them. Up to now, the Geats have ruled the game on this campaign, but we must take back the initiative that we previously held. Unfortunately, the Geats are caught between the Swedes on the east coast, who are hostile and aggressive, and the kinsmen of the Dene, who inhabit the lands along the west coast. I understand their anxiety about any aggression from either side, but we were their allies in the past. And now they have broken their solemn oaths.”
Stormbringer’s upper lip twitched with the contempt he felt for all oath breakers.
“Our only hope for success is to attack their precious lake settlement, the one we let them keep so long ago until they decided to use guile to turn on our people and destroy them. A victory by our forces at Västergötland would bring hope to the Dene towns in the south and turn the Geat conquest into a retreat towards their own lands.”
“People who fight for their lands are never easy to defeat,” murmured Eamonn. He was still pushing his luck, but Stormbringer seemed undeterred.
“We Dene have nowhere else to go, Eamonn. We have always been prepared to remain inside our old borders. But we are willing to fight for this strip of land, so let’s see who is the most desperate. Will it be the Geats with their thousands of acres, or the Dene whose total kingdom would fit into Gothland many times over? Don’t misjudge these people. They look like us, and they sound like us. But, in fact, they are not Dene!”
“So?” Eamonn was genuinely confused now.
“We took their land as a springboard for further expansion of our kingdom, but we never sought more land than we needed. We are little different, but the Geats love battle and power even more than we do, for we are reminded of the ancient days in Opland when our people suffered in the snowy wastes.”
“I acquit you of any hubris or self-delusion, Stormbringer, but don’t ask me to believe that Hrolf Kraki and his poisonous woman wouldn’t steal the whole wide world if they thought they could get away with their treachery.” Eamonn’s voice had a nasty edge to which Stormbringer finally responded.
“Thank you, Prince Eamonn, I’m forever in your debt for stating the obvious.” Stormbringer managed a serviceable, if sardonic, bow. “Your personal approval is very important to the Dene people.”
“Do shut up, Eamonn! You’re making a fucking ass of yourself,” Arthur warned his friend, while cuffing him lightly across the right ear for good measure.
“Ow!” Eamonn yelped. “That hurt, Arthur!”
“It was supposed to,” Arthur retorted.
“Enough, Arthur, for I can understand Eamonn’s doubts,” Stormbringer added. “After all, neither of you would be here if the Dene weren’t under constant pressure to expand their lands. Still, Eamonn, I’d prefer that you thought well of my people and were prepared to fight for our cause with a whole heart.”
“You’d have that oath anyway, Stormbringer, even if I believed your cause to be wrong,” Eamonn replied quickly. He looked puzzled at the idea that his opinion could matter at all to the tall Sae Dene.
The longboats cut through the water at an amazingly fast pace, but the warrior atop the sail called out an alarm when he spotted a warning beacon on a distant headland. While the other longboats moved through the early, still-darkling morning, Sea Wife lagged a little behind so that Stormbringer could monitor other beacon fires being lit along the coast as the passage of the fleet was plotted.
A small craft crossed the bows of Sea Wife at speed almost before Stormbringer’s crew noticed its presence. Leaf-shaped and narrow from stem to stern, there was only room within her elongated shape for four rowers, while a simple sail had been provided to extend her range. On this Eamonn could see that a white swan with a roughly sketched crown around its crest had been daubed.
“Who goes there?” Stormbringer roared. “Identify yourself or we’ll run you down.”
A voice drifted up from the craft. The warriors sat at their rowing benches, poised to act immediately that the ramming order was given, while Stormbringer walked slowly to the prow and showed himself.
“Who enters the waters of Ingeld Sea Sweeper, master of the coasts of the Hallin?” The voice was arrogant, so Stormbringer raised one hand to give the attack order.
“Wait, Captain! Wait! We are the servants of Ingeld, but he’s in hiding with what’s left of our people in the caverns in the southernmost reaches of our lands. We’ve been overrun by the Geats, and I thought you might have been a part of their fleet passing northwards to wipe out our last defenders along the Vagus River. I apologize if I’ve misjudged you.”
“What is your name?” Stormbringer shouted back. His temper was stretched tight by the seaman’s prevarications and the danger of their discovery. The whole invasion could be at risk!
“I’m called Hoel, the Ship-Singer, so I beg your pardon for any rudeness. But sir, I should remind you that your ships are the strangers in our waters.”
“Aye! And your beacons have announced our presence to the enemy more effectively than a personal announcement at their main camp. I’m Valdar Bjornsen, the Stormbringer, and I have come in answer to the call of Leif, the Sword of Skandia. I was at Heorot when his emissary arrived in search of aid from Hrolf Kraki, King of the Dene. So I have come with forty manned ships to make the contest against the Geats more even.”
“Thanks be to Loki then! And to Thor!” His companions cheered with gusto, and Hoel’s face was split in a grin so wide that his face seemed to be divided into two parts.
“The warriors of our master, Leif, are confined within a narrow triangle of land that is bounded by the Vagus River, the sea, and a smaller tributary of the river. They can’t advance or retreat, so the Geat leader, Olaus Healfdene, has left a small force to starve them into submission. Olaus has camped at Västergötland, where he and his army are growing fat on the wealth that has been stolen from our people.”
Hoel spat over the side of his vessel into the oily sea.
“You’re late in coming, Stormbringer. Our women have been raped and our children are dead. Our acres are blackened, our boats have been burned, and our horses have been stolen. But you have come, nonetheless, and you give heart to an old man. I had readied myself to flee to the west, but now I’ll gather together what men and vessels I can and I’ll meet you at the Vagus River. I’ll send couriers to the north and explain that relief is at hand.”
“And you will be welcome!” Stormbringer pointed to the line of warning fires that marched into the north. “But take care that your couriers aren’t captured, or we’ll be defeated at the Vagus before we arrive. Can I depend on you, Hoel?”
“Aye, master. You’re well named, for you bring the storm with you and, if the gods are kind, those raging winds will blow Olaus Healfdene away like straw in the tide. Fare thee well, Valdar Bjornsen.”
Without waiting for an answer, Hoel released a rope, the sail filled, and the small boat sprang away like a hunting hound released from the chain. Within moments, the elegant little craft was a dark sliver in the gold-tinged world of waves as the sun began to rise on the first day of war. The sail, with its crowned swan, rode above the waves as if it flew on the breast of the morning wind while, on the prow, a small figure raised one hand in triumph and salutation.
“That ship is a beautiful thing, Stormbringer. I would consider myself a fortunate man if I possessed a larger version of her. Hoel Ship-Singer must be a master craftsman.” Arthur followed the track of the vessel until it was hidden behind the headland with its blazing beacon.
“He’s a master builder, so perhaps he’ll sing you a ship one day, if we should prevail in the coming battle. All things are possible under Heaven.”
“I doubt I’ll ever be able to afford such a beautiful ship—and certainly not here in Skania. I could have her if I were at home in Britain, although I don’t know what I would do with a lovely vessel like Sea Wife or Loki’s Eye in Arden Forest. The nearest water to Arden is a five-day trek on horseback.”
The Sae Dene captain smiled politely, and Arthur remembered that he had seen the east coast of Britain firsthand and that sighting hadn’t always been in the most generous of lights.
Stormbringer issued a series of rapid-fire orders to his crew. Then he returned, his face calm but grave, and Arthur felt a frisson of concern.
“You’re young, and barely a man, Arthur, but it’s time we had a serious discussion about your future because it’s time for you to put off all your more childish habits. Don’t stiffen up on me, lad, for I’d like to speak to you as if I were an older brother . . .”
Stormbringer coughed awkwardly in embarrassment.
“You’re the best hand-to-hand warrior I’ve ever seen, Arthur. I’m not just flattering you. You’re a master with those twin blades of yours, and you have all the natural skills of a born leader. I can assure you that my men would already follow you if I were to pass on—except for the fact that you don’t trust yourself.”
Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Stormbringer brushed his complaints aside. “I understand that your father’s death left large boots to fill. I know better than you imagine, for my father was a legendary swordsman, a genius on a ship, and universally loved by all who served with him. Yet he saw nothing in color, so he existed in a half-blind state that ranged from black through to white. As a child, I was sure I could never hope to earn a name for myself. Not like him!”
What was there for Arthur to say in response to his friend’s truth?
“You see every mistake you make as proof that you’re a failure. You paralyze yourself by thinking and talking endlessly about your perceived weaknesses. I’ve watched you analyze every simple flaw, real or imagined, since we first met. I’ve told myself that you would grow out of these mannerisms, but you need guidance in how you must plan your life, if you ever hope to see Britain again.”
“That’s my problem, Stormbringer! I’ve been living with the certainty that I’ll never see it again, and my father and my mother will die without me. I know that Arden Forest will be lost to the Saxons and burned for charcoal, all the people I have loved will grow old and forget me, while I will dwindle, become old, and ultimately die. I can easily remain a landless beggar once my strong arms and legs begin to fail me, if I survive at all.”
Stormbringer laughed, riotously and hurtfully.
“I can see I appear amusing to you, my lord, so I’ll leave you if I’m such a figure of fun.”
Suddenly, Stormbringer slapped Arthur with his open hand across the face. The young man gasped with the shock of the unexpected blow, and his furious eyes blazed like burning ice.
“Such masterly self-pity! If you were a priest, you’d need a whip that would allow you to flagellate yourself. You Britons amaze me sometimes! If you don’t like the situation, do something about it.”
Arthur gnashed his teeth with fury, but Stormbringer was far from done with him.
“Has it occurred to you that talent, rather than birth, is everything to the Dene people? You too can become a man of wealth with ships and wide acres, and good men will follow you wherever you lead. You can build your own ships and sail back to Britain like a king. If you wish, you can carve out your own kingdom from the British lands that are now ruled by the Saxons. Why not?”
This time, Arthur was unable to find the words of protest needed. His mind was filled with the prospects that Stormbringer had described, so he was dizzy with a sudden rush of blood to his brain.
“What are you thinking, Arthur?” Stormbringer’s voice was surprisingly gentle.
“My dreams, my friend! I’m wishing that all you describe might come to be.”
“If you wish it, so it will. Did you doubt the words of the wisewoman, Freya, who said you’d become the King of Winter? I don’t, and I believe fervently that you will become a great king in Britain because that is what your heart desires. Now, sleep for what remains of the darkness because you might not get another chance.”
Some two days later, the Vagus River made its presence obvious by a brown stain on the blue waters. Although the Vagus wasn’t a large river, it was strong and deep, and swept from the inland lake through fertile lands until it reached the waters of the western sea. Arthur plucked a small pine branch from the floodwaters and, although the sharp, spiny foliage was waterlogged, the bough brought the scent of sap with it, as familiar as the smell of his mother’s hair.
If Stormbringer is right, I can return to Britain like a king, Arthur thought. I need to determine that I will win a name for myself, collect a following of good warriors, and then purchase a ship with the rewards of the victories that will surely come to us. If all goes well, I will smell the pines of Arden, hold my mother in my arms, and once again become a complete man.
As one, the fleet turned and the ships veered to the north, just beyond sight of land.
“Do we disembark to the south of the river, or do we beach the ships and make a direct attack?” Eamonn asked with an eager smile on his face. His eyes flashed with the excitement of the coming conflict.
“No! We’ll beach our ships north of the river in a place that will ensure our vessels can be guarded and kept safe. Then, on foot, we’ll attack Olaus Healfdene’s troops, who are keeping Leif and his warriors confined in their encampment on the Vagus. Next, in company with Leif and the remnants of his force, we will take to our ships to attack the main body of Olaus’s army at Västergötland. He won’t be expecting an attack at this early stage in his campaign, especially from the river. We’ll sail upstream as far as we dare, and then beach our ships. Again, we’ll need to select a well-protected landing spot, because we’ll need our longboats to sail south to those places where we can teach Olaus’s allies in southern Skania that they must keep to their own borders. Our ships must remain safe and undamaged, so their protection is paramount to any tactical decisions we make during the course of the battles.”
“Where will this second battle be fought then?” Eamonn persisted, with little lights dancing in his eyes like small red fires.
“You’re very eager, my friend, and you’ll become a berserker if you’re not careful.” The Sae Dene captain smiled. “It’s my intention to take the fleet upstream until we reach Myrkvidr, which is deep in Vaster Gortland, the land of the Geats. We’ll make our attack at a place where the Dene infiltration and settlement is negligible. Do you understand why, Arthur?”
“No one ever asks me,” Eamonn interrupted, grinning; Stormbringer was left confused by the odd sense of humor of these Britons.
“Hush, Eamonn,” Arthur responded. “I think I see your reasoning, Stormbringer, but correct me if I’m wrong.”
“Go on then, Arthur! We still have some time before we’ll need to muffle our oars and maintain complete silence.”
“To attack the Geats in an area where they consider themselves to be completely secure will give us an unexpected tactical advantage. Considering the fact that the Dene, the Geats, and the men of Noroway are all closely related by blood, there’s a strategic gain in defeating the Geat forces at a time when the Dene position in Skania in the south is so parlous.”
“That’s all true,” Stormbringer agreed equably.
“The Dene forces in Skania are demoralized and more than half defeated already. Normally, they would fight to the last man for every foot of land, but not only has Hrolf Kraki deserted them and left them to the mercy of their enemies, but his name was used to betray them. Only a stunning victory will rouse them from the torpor of defeat. With luck and good planning, our counteroffensive will be successful before the Geats have even commenced the second wave of their aggression. Is that assessment true?”
“Absolutely!”
Arthur felt pleased with himself.
“Of course, we must defeat them comprehensively if we’re to gain the ascendancy that we need. There must be few survivors, if any, from the forces of our enemy.”
“This Myrkvidr, Captain! What an ugly name! It must mean something particularly unpleasant,” Eamonn put in.
“You would call it ‘Mirk Wood’ in your tongue; it means a murky, dark, or black forest, and it’s not a place where you’d really like to be unless you had good reason. In the summer, Lake Wener is very beautiful, and the Geat jarls enjoy the pleasures of sin, women, and feasting once their enemies have been crushed. We will attack their encampment from the forest south of the shores of the lake. It’s said to have a dangerous reputation. Unclean things dwell there in a half darkness too thick to be breached, even during the height of summer.”
“A pleasant spot then!” Arthur’s sardonic expression was everything that Stormbringer had hoped for. “Because of its reputation, Olaus Healfdene would never expect an army to arrive out of its depths. A successful commander and strategist will always choose the ground for his battles and will bring his forces as close to his enemy as he possibly can before he is discovered and loses the initiative. That’s what I’d like to do if I were in command!”
“And so do we all—but we must rest now! We sail north to a spot only twenty miles from the Vagus, but we’ll move at speed once we leave the fleet, for who knows if we’ve been seen already? We must be fast, disciplined, and silent. That means no berserker rage from you, young Eamonn!”
Stormbringer’s navigators found a pebbled beach that was just large enough for the beaching of their vessels, so the Sae Dene approached the shore with the caution of men deep inside enemy territory. With a practiced economy, Stormbringer used hand gestures to order a dozen men to create a perimeter before Sea Wife was finally dragged above the high-tide line.
Beyond the pebbled foreshore that was thick with black, bleaching seaweed tossed down by the last high tide, an area of coarse grasses and flowering vines formed a transitional area between the sea and the thick forest. Arthur imagined that this wood of midnight-blue shadows, brooding silence, and deep drifts of pine needles hid enemies behind every tree. Stormbringer hissed out the information that these woods were green and pleasant places in summer, although when winter came and the snow fell in thick drifts, many peasants became frightened of the growling of the frozen branches.
Once the perimeter was established, Stormbringer instructed his jarls to select one hundred men who could be trusted to fight to the death to protect the ships. None of the warriors relished such a task because it promised no spoils, no glory, and scant excitement. With an apologetic grin, Stormbringer asked Vermund to volunteer to lead the hundred.
“I can see from your face, my young fire-eater, that my request doesn’t please you. But I must leave my ships in the hands of a man I can trust. I promise you that you will be part of the fighting when we arrive at Myrkvidr, if you successfully guard my fleet for me. You will not be required to stay behind twice. Remember, we have to rescue Leif, the Sword of Skandia, and his men. If so, we may have to escape at speed and will be relying on these ships. We may be expected when we arrive at the Vagus! If that disaster happens, this duty will be critical for, without the fleet, we’ll be trapped on this beach—and here we’ll rot.”
The silence was deep and ominous while Arthur watched Vermund’s eyes closely. At first, he thought the young man would refuse out of hand, but then Vermund stiffened his back, squared his shoulders, and bowed his head in obedience to his commander.
“I will do as you ask, my Lord Stormbringer. These ships will suffer no harm unless we are all dead. Your ships are safe!”
“I believe you, Master Vermund, and you have my hand on my promise.”
Then Stormbringer and Vermund clasped each other’s wrists in the way of warriors the world over: toe to toe, and eye to eye.
Without delay, the Dene warriors were strung out through the forest with scouts moving ahead and on each side of the main body of warriors to disguise their number and warn of problems before they arose. The main force was organized into independent platoons comprised of ships’ crews under the command of the ship’s captain and officers. Each commander was directly answerable to Stormbringer, who was in overall command of the attack force.
Before they left the dunes above the beach, Stormbringer had stolen the time to hold a conference with the thirty or so officers who would control their crews once the assault began. The strategy chosen for the attack was simple, but its success depended on perfect timing and teamwork.
When the prevailing geographical conditions became fully apparent, Stormbringer decided to divide the force into two groups. Leif was trapped between three distinct bodies of water. The sea approaches couldn’t be traversed, and running at attack speed through dry sand or pebbles was treacherous, exhausting, and foolish, so Stormbringer excluded any attack or escape from the sea and its beaches with no regrets.
The two rivers, the Vagus and its small brackish tributary, were another matter entirely. As the command group observed the lie of the land from the top of a low dune overlooking the Vagus, Stormbringer, his captains, and Arthur stared down at the trap that Olaus had sprung on the Dene imprisoned in their enclave.
The Vagus was broad at its confluence with the sea, but it was spread over a wide area. A smashed path through the dried grass and the low, stunted bushes that could tolerate these salty conditions showed where the Dene warriors had been driven, so Stormbringer was sure that the river, in this section at least, would allow armed men to ford the waters with reasonable safety. Of course, the Geats had set up an encampment that prevented any escape into the north by Leif’s warriors, who had been trapped in the marshes between the two confluences for nearly two months. That any of the Dene defenders were still alive was a miracle in itself.
Across the swamp with its higher ground covered with tents, Stormbringer could see the shallower tributary. All the trees that had grown in this marshy, malodorous, and muddy stretch of waterfront had been cut down for cooking fires. The camp was deceptively quiet, almost deathly still, and Arthur tried to imagine what life would be like, trapped and defeated in a world of dirty water, slimy mud, and minimal supplies of food. The plagues of midges and insects would make life unendurable. With a jolt of horror, Arthur recognized dried meat hanging in the Dene camp. The Dene had been forced to butcher their horses and dry the meat, because they had no use for their beloved beasts, coupled with insufficient food or fresh water to sustain them.
“We must attack from both sides simultaneously,” Stormbringer decided. “The river is deep enough to permit the passage of low-draft vessels, but we may have to swim for it, if we fail in our attack. On the other hand, that tributary is shallow and more mud than sand, because the water is very slow moving. We’ll have to cross the Vagus from upstream where the Geats won’t be expecting us, but it’ll still be a long run to the battle with the besiegers.”
He singled out Frodhi’s captains. “Can you swim the Vagus, run to the enemy positions, and then carry out a successful attack?”
One hard-bitten commander, Halgar, bridled at the question. “My men’s resolve will not be weakened, and no ground will defeat them. My master, Frodhi, sent his best men and his fairest ships in answer to your call, and no man present will outclass Frodhi’s warriors.”
“I’m pleased to hear you say those words,” Stormbringer answered calmly. No trace of irritation at Halgar’s curt response was permitted to show. “At dusk, just before the sun sets and at a time when no one would normally expect an attack, I will light a beacon right here, which will be the signal for the attack to begin on both sides of the rivers. If the fire is on the reverse slope of the dune, you’ll be able to see it from your starting points, while it will be mostly hidden from the Geat positions. With luck, we won’t have to swim unless we are defeated—and I refuse to consider defeat! After all, there are only two hundred of them and near to a thousand of us. If we fail, the clans will sing songs forever of the foolish tactics and stupidity of Valdar Bjornsen. So, my friends, we won’t lose, will we? We will relieve our brothers and then we will strike the Geats where we can really hurt them.”
“Do we take prisoners?” Halgar asked, his mouth pursed in a thin line of determination. Stormbringer thought quickly, as did Arthur, and they both came to the same chill conclusion.
“There will be no prisoners! We can’t afford the warriors to guard them. Besides, I don’t expect that there’ll be many of Leif’s men left alive and sound. We’ll have problems enough caring for them.”
“You can’t allow any of them to escape and warn Olaus Healfdene that we’re here and hunting,” Arthur added. “Surprise must be everything in this campaign!”
“You’ve heard the Briton,” Stormbringer told Halgar, and was rewarded with a jaundiced smile. “Give no quarter and permit no one to survive.”
“Does that include the women?” Halgar asked.
“If there are women in Healfdene’s group, they’ll be camp followers and shield maidens.” Arthur’s reply was adamant. “They’ll understand the ways of war.”
Stormbringer answered reluctantly. “Kill the women, but there will be no rapine, do you hear me? We’re not barbarians, and I want our people to praise you and your men when they sing of our victory, not compare you to the animals of the wilds. Finally, before you ask, any children who may be present will be spared and given to Leif as slaves. I don’t make war on children!”
So, with the sun on its downward slide into the afternoon, Stormbringer’s forces divided and Halgar led his men into the inky shadows of the trees. When Arthur looked, his sun-dazzled eyes could find no trace of the three hundred men under the dour Halgar’s leadership. All sound from Frodhi’s warriors was lost in the forest, and the entire force had vanished like smoke.
“You and you,” Stormbringer pointed to two of his captains, “secrete yourselves and your men in ambush along the beaches. I can see Olaus’s men attempting to escape in that direction if they have no other choice. But remember—no quarter!”
“Depend on us, Valdar Bjornsen,” the tallest man responded. “No one will escape.”
Stormbringer turned his attention to Arthur. “And you, my friend, take my crew and build me a beacon fire sufficient to be seen by our men, once they have taken up their positions and are awaiting the order to attack.”
“I live to serve,” Arthur answered, and immediately leapt to his feet to obey. Because his nerves were stretched taut, the young man was grateful to be occupied during the interminable hours that stretched out before him until the battle commenced. Every warrior feared these hours, because each man was tortured by his own imagination.
And so the afternoon dragged on, in impatience and taut anxiety, while the sun continued its descent towards the horizon and the coming battle.