Traveller Inceptio
80

Godric was incensed. “What do you mean, he’s gone? Gone where? We need him and he just…goes? Is he a coward?” His face turned a beet red and he shook his head in anger and frustration.

Michael stood firm, though he was irritated and knew he showed it. Godric had become angry in front of Yffi, Desmond, Ceolwulf, Brother Oeric and Aeoelhun and they looked embarrassed at his outburst. “I assure you, Lord Godric, that Hurley is no coward and is spoiling for a fight. His reasons for leaving were out of his hands for we are also answerable to a higher authority. Sometimes we need to work within the bounds of our missions as well.”

Godric fell silent and Brother Oeric stood open-mouthed in wonder of any higher authority to whom Michael and Hurley could be answerable. Michael was stung by the big man’s outburst, and while his frustration was born by real fear, Godric had no reason to doubt Michael’s loyalty. Like most Special Forces operations, their missions were a series of calculated risks set to get results. Hurley’s path lay beyond Michael’s influence and he wished him well, leaving him to concentrate on the defence of Giolgrave rather than fight amongst themselves. Not willing to put up with anyone’s crap, he used the reference to a mysterious higher authority to shut Godric down.

The reference did have Brother Oeric looking round-eyed, but Michael was in no mood for hero-worship.

They had gathered as a council of war to discuss the latest developments. As expected, a Viking scout had finally been seen near the village and despite their pursuit, he had eluded them not by guile, but simply because the lad ran like a rabbit with one of Yffi’s hounds after it. They knew it was only a matter of hours before the Vikings would arrive in force. The villagers had their procedures to follow: no more excursions into the forest for food; bolster the defence stakes; every person was to be armed, even the women. Desmond and Ceolwulf, supported by their apprentices, had repaired their weapons and created new spearheads, though the captured weapons also added a fine boost to their fighting strength. Each Saxon male of age possessed a spear and the additional axes would add more power, but Michael had his doubts in the ability of many of the men to use them. An axeman was like a modern tank or a medieval knight: a heavy weapon ideal for breaking down opposition. How would their men fare in one-on-one fighting against more experienced Viking skirmishers?

Desmond’s salvaged equipment included a die for the manufacture of valuable chainmail. They had too few sets of mail, but they didn’t have the time or resources to manufacture any. The villagers risked being under-armed, under-trained, and most importantly, lacking the experience to survive against their foe.

Michael pondered on the tactics used by the Vikings in their battle at the river. He recalled how effective the combined skills of the axeman and the spearman had been, a deadly combination that had nearly felled him. The reach of the spearman and the power of the axe made them nearly impossible to beat and Michael, Hurley and Desmond tried to come up with strategies to work against the deadly combination.

Each morning, villagers not on guard ran through basic attack and defence drills with their spears. Michael felt the Saxon farmers weren’t bad at their weapons, only out of practice, and the drills helped fine-tune their abilities. Sword drills with Ceolwulf had been a dangerous affair, even when using training swords, but they were effective in assisting swordsmen to build confidence against their deadly foe. Eadric, Hengist, and Irminric established training formats for the younger lads. Irminric was determined not to miss out and had the men create a timber brace for his leg, little more than sticks held in place by strips of cloth. Though his leg was healing well, he still could not walk without pain, so any serious fighting was out of the question. Michael had seen Irminric weep in frustration at his inability to participate in patrols or work at the village defences, but he had to accept his lot and be content in repairing weapons and training the younger lads.

Even Alric tried to learn to fight with the spear, though his severed fingers made handling a spear far too painful. He tended the horses and assisted in tasks around the village, carrying his spear at all times.

Some of the women and the recently freed slaves were also keen to learn how to handle a spear. Godric told Michael, “Aye, women can wield a spear, but it’s no’ common. They’ll never be as skilled as the men. A lad plays with spears as soon as he can walk. Women will better serve the village in making sure there is food ready, in caring for the children, and aiding any wounded.” They watched the village women prepare bandages and winced as he pulled at his moustache. “I hope we won’t need too many of these.”

“But what about her?” Michael asked as young Aedgyd stalked past. Her bruises had faded to yellow, but she never smiled. The young girl was all too keen to train with a spear and appeared focussed and angry all of the time. Young and fragile, Aedgyd had learned quickly how to handle her spear and was even better than some of the young lads. She had become firm friends with Eabae to make an odd couple: the shy, bruised and spear-wielding Aedgyd with the self-assured, ladylike Eabae. Aedgyd was a pretty lass and her confidence had improved enough for Eadric to know that she was besotted with him, which had the young warrior blush with pleasure.

Godric shrugged at the young woman, her issues beyond his understanding.

Tatae and Horsa had stockpiled puffballs and medicinal herbs, barks and mushrooms, while under Hilda’s instruction a treatment centre was set up in the large cave. Michael respected the primitive but workable trauma unit that he feared might be needed all too soon.

In the midst of all of this preparation for war, life moved on. Tatae was busy, for there was a birth to attend to, and the monks offered comfort and took confessions. Each morning there was a service, though Michael and Godric insisted the monks also train with spears. There were some complaints.

Godric silenced them abruptly. “There’s a good chance that this day or the next, we and you will die. Whether you die crying, or die killing these dogs, is up to you!”

The entire village threw itself behind the preparation. They also had a fine leader in Godric, who made sure nothing was overlooked. It was a place that was defendable. They were boxed into the valley, so had no choice but to fight or die. Michael felt great pride in these people, moulded by adversity into a strong unit: not necessarily strong militarily, but strong mentally.

Two-man teams, almost undetectable, were sent to scout the forest, but all too soon, one of the teams was late, the woodsman Hereric and one of the younger lads.

That day, Michael took a moment with Tatae and they kissed passionately. She trembled as he held her before they went back to their work. Her eyes were troubled at the prospect of the Vikings, but as always, she had something positive to say.

“My love, don’t worry. We are in the great forest and the Goddesses are with us,” she confided quietly.

Michael nodded and teased her. “But the monks tell me that their Jesus is also with us.”

Tatae smiled tartly. “Perhaps so, but we’re in the forest. This is our home. I think the Goddesses of the forest are closer.”

Michael smiled and kissed her, for the time would come when kisses would have to wait. What was most important was how the villagers had overcome much of their paralysing terror. As Godric reminded them, it was how they left this world that really mattered.

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