Traveller Inceptio
82

It was mid-afternoon when a lookout called the alarm and Michael, Godric, and many of the warriors, young and old, ran to the protected entry of the village. Their worst fears were realised as Vikings emerged from the forest and sauntered to a bowshot from the hedgehog. They were prepared for war, with shields carried by all. Some were clad in valuable chainmail, but most wore leather helmets, jerkins, and the occasional boiled-leather bodice.

Michael counted thirty-five in the attack party, but in the narrow defile it looked to be many more. As Michael suspected, most looked to be experienced warriors who, in their travels, obviously had little compunction in slaughtering monks, women, and children. One stepped forward. He was tall and wore a shiny metal helm with a chainmail neck and face guard, carried a sword and hefted a silver-embossed round Viking shield. He looked every inch the Viking noble and was obviously the leader of the small army. As the sun shone off his polished, conical helm, he looked most impressive. Michael noted the villagers would have to fight with the afternoon sun in their eyes, a fact he was sure was planned by the Viking leader.

The Viking chief said nothing. There would be no terms. He simply looked at the village, smiled, and then nodded to his men, who all laughed as if in confirmation of a private joke. Axes were hefted, spears brandished, and rather than run blindly forward, the Vikings strode onwards with grim purpose, shields to the fore. Michael noticed their enemy had grouped in threes, as predicted: of axeman, spearman, and swordsman with shield. After his experience at the river, they would make for a very tough and effective fighting unit.

Godric stood at the front of the waiting Saxons in his armour. The precious mail shirt hung to his thighs, while his round shield was held on his left arm. With his shield and armour, he cut an inspiring figure and looked tall, powerful, and fearless. As the Vikings strode forward, he donned his helm, similar in design to that worn by the Viking leader, with nose guard, but without the trimmings. The only other person in the village similarly armoured was Desmond. Because of their heavy armour, they would be able to absorb more damage than most of the other men. Ceolwulf also wore a metal helm, while Michael had donned his light mail undershirt and arm guards.

They heard the Vikings joke together as if they were strolling through the forest. Most of the Saxon men momentarily clutched at amulets, some a crucifix, others similar to the two worn by Michael. Silent prayers, pleas and promises were made to various deities with the silent hope that if they parted this mortal earth this day, they would do so in good favour.

Yffi was the first to recover from the shock of seeing the advance and he began to call out insults. The Vikings were called women, and dogs, and cowards, and soon the entire village joined in. A couple of the young lads had slings by which they released a few round pebbles into the advance. Most were deflected by shields, though one eventually found a mark on a spearman who immediately clutched his eye as blood flowed and he sagged to his knees. This received immediate catcalls from the village and the Vikings bellowed in rage, spitting curses, their mood suddenly ugly and murderous.

Michael loosed his remaining arrows, selecting his targets with great care. One arrow struck the hilt of an axe, the lucky Viking with the ugly face spared by chance or by his Gods. Another struck an axeman in the face and he fell heavily. Now they were closer, he would have been more true to his mark but for the shields. Another Viking went down with an arrow in his eye.

The Vikings chanted a war cry: “Death! Death! Death!” designed to weaken the will of the defenders. Michael knew the effect it could have on morale, so he started to chant it too. Godric caught on and they actually found humour in the situation, the villagers also chanting, “Death! Death! Death!”

This irritated the Vikings even further. Axemen swung to chop at the hedgehog barricade and remove the deadly spikes. They advanced all too swiftly. Michael could smell their odour in the warmth of the afternoon sun and hear the axemen’s grunted exertions as they carved their way forward.

Yffi and his hunters ran to the fore as Godric called for spearmen. Irminric hobbled up, but Godric restrained him. “Not yet, lad. Your time will come soon enough.”

The first moves in the conflict were watched in fascination as if it was a dance. The closest Vikings dodged and parried spear thrusts while jammed in the crowded entry. Michael watched, eager to join the fray, his sword drawn. It was surprising how little death took place in those opening moments as the battling warriors were barely able to parry and thrust. A Viking received a cut to the back of a hand, a Saxon lost a finger, and a face was sliced with a spear. The fighting was sharp and savage. It was only a matter of time before men began to die. On the Saxon side, the wounded quickly dropped back. A wounded man will soon be a dead man as an injury slows him down. The few wounded received care from Horsa and Tatae and their team. That way they could re-join the fray.

It felt as if they only played at fighting. That feeling was soon dispelled when a farmer in front of Michael screamed as a spear hit him hard in the face and he fell. This caused the Vikings to pause and cheer, their savage, sweating faces close enough for Michael to attack. At his command, the Saxons fell back to allow the Vikings to carve a narrow access through the hedgehog. It was useless to try and fight in the confines, as neither side could move. The villagers needed more freedom of movement, while the Vikings had to remain constricted. The tactic was for the Vikings to jam the narrow entry while the Saxons could prevail against the superior force.

An impatient Viking axeman pushed through the barrier only to die screaming with a spear thrust to his gut. The spearman, a nervous young village lad, was immediately cut down by a flailing sword. Michael knew that if the lad had more experience, he would have anticipated that thrust, but now he was dead. It was a waste that could have been prevented if he had been better trained. Godric and Michael stood close to the entryway, almost shoulder to shoulder, and they began to strike at the struggling enemy. Godric’s shield parried many a spear-thrust and the heavily armoured old warrior cried out as he struck against the marauders.

This continued for long minutes. The entry crowded again and Michael yelled, “Step back! Step back!”

There was still too much flailing by the attackers and none of the Saxon blows were able to take effect. As the Vikings stepped over the body of their fallen axeman, they entered a clear area before a second barrier erected only days before. If the enemy was able to breach the second barrier, they would have full access to the caves: to the women and the children and the rest of the village. All knew the Vikings must never breach that second barrier.

Michael and Godric with his shield had formed a team with Yffi with his spear when they heard a bellow as Ceolwulf rushed at the crowded Vikings. He had opted for an axe in this relatively close combat area and swung with deadly effect. His great strength and surprising agility was enough for Michael to witness firsthand how deadly a good axeman could be. The Vikings recognised the use of one of their axes against them and screamed out as the deadly blade severed a spearman’s arm then, after a battering against his shield, the hilt of the axe smashed a shield-carrier in the nose. As he dropped, his head was split.

Ceolwulf’s charge seemed the final catalyst for death. Viking blood and brains spattered while another Saxon fell to a spear. One of Yffi’s hunters, a capable and quiet man, fell to his knees as he held onto the spear in his chest in the hope of dragging the spearman forward. That was not to be, as a second spear pierced his throat. An astonishing amount of blood squirted, and without a sound, he simply fell. His fall made a temporary gap in the Saxon arc that kept the Vikings in the kill-zone. A few enemy were able to force their way into the more open fighting area. With more room to move, they attacked, causing the villagers to be forced back some paces. This space was all the Vikings needed and they surged through the hedgehog. Michael, Godric and Yffi formed back into their team, suddenly on the defensive.

Michael swore in frustration. If they continued to fight like this, they deserved to be overrun. He cried out in fury and Godric took up the call. With both hands holding his sword aloft, Michael leaped at an axeman who had an eye to strike at Desmond. Michael’s silver sword flashed, severing the big man’s arm at the elbow. Desmond silenced his bellow with a slash that carved through his face. Clutching his fatal wound with his remaining hand, the man fell heavily into the press. Meanwhile, Godric parried another spear-thrust and attacked a swordsman. They fought, one against the other, as they deflected blows with shield and sword. The opposing Viking was a younger man who was as skilled as he was fit, and they fought savagely, using the shields as a weapon as well as defence. Michael looked to assist, but barely dodged a spear jab, and then fought a spear and swordsman combination. We was still bruised and stiff so was particularly wary of being struck where he had been injured only a week before. As he battled, he was unable to gain any advantage, but was barely able to stay alive as the two attackers used their combined strengths to breach Michael’s defence.

In the press, movement became even more difficult. Ceolwulf had been trading blows with a spearman. When the spear was smashed, the Viking fell back and Ceolwulf rushed to assist Michael. As he did so, Michael dodged another spear thrust and blocked a sword. A piece of hedgehog timber was thrown and it struck his bare head with a glancing blow that made his head ring. He barely parried a spear stab and moved in close to strike his attacker’s nose with his sword pommel, only to be struck by an axe handle and then shoved with a shield. He fell as the Vikings cried out in victory.

Michael struggled to rise but was knocked to the ground again. He risked being trampled by his own side or speared by Vikings, then Ceolwulf struck at the three who had Michael in their sights. One swordsman successfully deflected the big man’s blows and Ceolwulf’s swing left an opening. A low spear thrust into the side of his calf caused the big man to drop to his knees with a scream. Michael found his feet just as Ceolwulf’s head was struck in the temple by a Viking sword. The village blacksmith’s head flew backward and Michael was sprayed by blood and brains.

Godric, Michael, and another two fighters could take no advantage, so were again forced to retreat. Ceolwulf’s fall was a disaster that would affect them all. As the Viking advance struggled, more of their comrades demolished the spikes to widen their front of attack.

More village warriors, including Eadric, Hengist, Alric, and even Irminric rushed forward, screaming and jabbing with spears, but with the fading light and a bellow from their leader, the marauders broke off their attack. This was no retreat. They would return the next day to finish the job. Those Vikings who hadn’t even had a chance to join the battle jeered at the villagers, mocking them and swearing oaths to revenge the deaths of their brothers.

Then they turned, to vanish into the forest from which they came.

There was silence, but for the groans of the dying. Bodies lay among the remains of the hedgehog and the defenders stood, numbed and exhausted, their arms leaden and their faces wet with sweat and blood. Michael was covered in Ceolwulf’s blood and brains and felt curiously detached as he knelt by the big man’s body. He had witnessed many battles and the bloody mess that modern weapons could make of a man. He had even seen a comrade struck with a direct hit by a rocket-propelled grenade. Here in the close quarters, where war was conducted face to face, it was more horrifying: more real and honest. Here you saw a man’s fear as you carved away his life or watched as an enemy smiled to gut a friend, or in the case of Ceolwulf, literally smashed his brains out. He was sickened at the waste of war and bowed his head a moment, fearing he might go into shock.

Yffi placed his hand on Michael’s shoulder and he was led, his sword still in hand, to the inner barrier where he wearily sat with his back against it. He watched Godric look around him sadly, his face grim. He was impressive, this thegn, and a true inspiration to his people. Tender hands gently wiped the gore from his face. He kept his eyes closed until his horror passed and felt Tatae’s kiss on his lips. His eyes opened and he smiled at her stricken, golden eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, “but there is something you can do for me.”

“What, my love?” she asked with concern.

“Another kiss?” he asked wearily.

He felt her soft lips on his, and then she was gone to assist the wounded.

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