Wolfsangel Read Free Page B

were deaf to the commands of the warriors to hold their position until archers could be brought to bear on the Norsemen. There was a scream from the villagers as they rushed the men at the gap. Stabbing wildly with their spears or slashing with their knives, they were no match for the discipline of Arngeir and Vigi, whose spears hardly seemed to move, yet two opponents were down. Then two more. The West Men screamed and jabbered and rattled their weapons but the raiders kept their movements tight, the economy of their thrusts taking a heavy toll.

    The five thegns cursed but felt duty bound to go to the aid of the peasants. Any one of them would have cut down a farmer for as much as a misplaced word, but faced with invaders it was their duty to defend the men that put food on their lord’s table. As they rushed in, the courage of the farmers broke and they ran out. The four raiders who had been hiding burst into this confusion. In the maelstrom of flailing limbs and weapons one thegn was felled by a peasant who mistook him for a raider. West Men stumbled and slipped and blocked their comrades’ blows as the Norsemen’s axes bit and spears stabbed. Some of the farmers managed to get away, but the warriors, beset on both sides, stood and died.

    Authun swung the basket with the boys in it onto the longship and Varrin heaved their mother after them. The big man ached to join the fight. He had his orders but still held himself a coward for minding children while his kinsmen fought for their lives. Varrin looked at the woman. She had one of the boys out of the basket and was comforting him. As he watched, a feeling of disquiet came over him. It was as if the woods around the village had begun to seethe. Somehow he could sense the forest coming alive, that the foxes, the birds and above all the wolves had caught the scent of slaughter on the breeze and were hurrying to the feast. From deep in the trees he heard their howling, the dissonant call of welcome for the dead. He turned back towards the village, itching to go to his kinsmen’s aid. From somewhere above him, even over the din of battle, he heard a call, a sound, he thought, like the sky cracking. He glanced up to see a pair of ravens circling.

    ‘My lord!’ he said. ‘An omen. Odin is with us - he sends his intelligencers. Our men have carried the day, they will make the ship.’ His voice was full of admiration. What other leader could hack a victory from such unpromising odds?

    Authun looked at him. ‘They will enter legend here.’

    ‘Leave them?’

    ‘Leave them.’

    Varrin was stunned but he did as he was told, helping the king shove the boat out into the river. The two men leaped aboard.

    On the river beach their kinsmen leaned on their axes. Hella bore a deep cut on his cheek, Arngeir a wound on his chest that stained his tunic red, but otherwise they were in good fighting shape.

    ‘He’s going,’ said Grani.

    ‘He has said we must die,’ said Vigi. ‘It’s foreseen.’

    ‘Varrin and the king are no poets,’ said Arngeir.

    ‘They will tell the tale to a poet,’ said Vigi. ‘The words will fit our glory.’

    Down the grassy hill behind the houses horsemen were pouring. It was nearly an hour since the lord had seen the village beacons and he and his bodyguard had ridden hard. There were around twenty of them, at least two armoured in byrnies, four carrying swords, the rest spears and axes. The thegns had come, and in numbers.

    ‘They can begin work on our saga very shortly, I think,’ said Arngeir.

    ‘We will be remembered for ever,’ said Vigi.

    A bowshot away from the raiders, the peasants had cut through the staves and five horses jumped down the small cliff onto the beach. The Norsemen’s advantage from holding the gap was gone and now they had enemies on two sides.

    King Authun hailed his men from the ship. ‘You have played your part in the destiny of the world. You die as heroes.’

    The raiders saluted him with their