Knights of the Hawk

Twenty-seven

And so we set out: Magnus, Godric, Ælfhelm, Eithne and myself. We needed someone who could speak both English and Irish to act as interpreter, and so she took the place of the one called Derbforgaill, since they were not dissimilar in height and in build. She had undone her braid, rubbed dirt into her hair and smudged some across her cheeks too so as to make herself look more like the slave-girl, and then they had exchanged clothes: Eithne’s fine-spun woollen garments for the other girl’s coarse linen shift and tattered, mud-stained cloak.

If putting on a slave’s garb brought back unwelcome memories of her own thralldom, I saw no sign of it. Certainly she seemed nervous, but then so were we all.

‘God be with you, lord,’ Pons said when the time came for us to part ways. Often the light-hearted one, his mood was solemn now.

‘And all the saints too,’ Serlo added. ‘May they keep you safe from harm.’

We could well do with their favour this day. Indeed I reckoned we would need every ounce of aid that the heavenly kingdom could offer us, and more besides.

The same thought was running through my mind when, not long after that, we began the climb up the crumbling track that led towards the iron fortress. The eastern skies were markedly brighter than they had been earlier, and across the fjord the mist was just starting to clear, although it still hung thickly around the crag on the promontory, veiling the tops of its palisades and the gatehouse, which had the strange effect of making them seem taller. A grim sense of foreboding gripped me then, as I gazed up at those dark walls and realised that, one way or another, this was where my fate would be decided.

We’d retrieved the horses that Haakon’s men had arrived upon, but while the path was wide and even enough for us to ride up it, I was all too aware of the sharp precipice to our right, where the ground fell sharply away towards the rocks and the pounding waves below, and so we dismounted and went on foot. Magnus and Ælfhelm led the way, with the girls behind them, bearing their now-filled pails of water on the short poles across their shoulders. Godric and I brought up the rear.

With every step we took towards Jarnborg’s gates, my heart thudded harder in my chest, and my throat grew drier as my doubts began to multiply. All it needed was for one person to challenge us, and they would surely see through these feeble disguises of ours at once. And mine was feeblest of all. While the Englishmen’s longer hair would allow them to pass, at a glance, for Danes, my own, cut short as it was in the French style, clearly marked me out as a Norman. Fortunately one of the corpses had been wearing a helmet with a chain curtain to protect the neck. It was a little too large for my head, but it was better than nothing.

The palisade loomed ever larger before us. Yesterday, from half a mile away, it had seemed formidable enough. Now that we were almost upon Haakon’s winter fastness, however, it became clear just how powerful a position it commanded, perched as it was atop the rocky promontory. Gradually I began to make out the rough shadows of two sentries standing atop the gatehouse, behind the parapet, with spears in hand, the points presented to the sky. They saw us as surely as we saw them. Recognising us for the party that had been sent to the spring, straightaway they called down to whoever was manning the gates. With a long creak of timbers, those great doors swung open. This was the moment of reckoning. All our careful planning would be for naught if we failed here.

Loose pebbles crunched beneath my feet as I led my horse up the track towards the open gates, and I breathed deeply to try to still the pounding in my chest, convinced that someone would hear it.

The sentries on the gatehouse called out something that might have been either a greeting or a challenge; I guessed it was the former, because Magnus, at the head of the column, raised a hand in acknowledgement. He and Ælfhelm passed beneath the gatehouse’s arch, followed by Eithne and the girls, and then Godric and myself. Two fair-haired boys, both no older than thirteen or fourteen, their cloaks huddled about them to guard against the cold, stood just inside the gates. From the red rims around their eyes, the sorry-looking expressions on their faces and their unsteadiness on their feet, I reckoned they were suffering from having overindulged the previous night. Perhaps that was why they had been placed on gate duty this cold morning, as a punishment for their drinking, and perhaps if they had been more awake then they might have spotted that we were not the same men who had ridden out from the fortress earlier. But, as I’d often found, folk will often see only what they expect to see. The thought that we might attempt such a ruse wouldn’t even have entered their heads, and so they had no reason to pay us close attention.

Nevertheless I dared not meet their eyes, but instead fixed my gaze on the way ahead, concentrating merely on putting one foot in front of the other, and on coaxing my stubborn horse on. Behind us, I heard the great oak gates creak as they were closed once more.

We were inside Jarnborg. Against the odds, against even my expectations, we had done it. I could scarcely believe it. Under the very noses of Haakon’s men, we had slipped inside his precious stronghold, his so-called iron fortress, against the walls of which Magnus’s assault had been broken and scores of his loyal followers had been killed. The place that not so long ago we had considered all but unassailable.

All was deathly still, and strangely so, considering that it had to be more than an hour since first light. Usually by this time I would have expected to hear shouting and laughing as men trained at arms in the yard, and the steady ring of hammer upon anvil as a farrier worked at his forge. But there was none of that. Save for those at the gate, no one seemed yet to have risen. Instead there was only an eerie hush, broken occasionally by a dog’s bark or a cock’s crow, as if the whole of Jarnborg were still asleep, its defenders all snoring soundly in their beds.

‘Where is everyone?’ I murmured to Eithne once we were far enough away from the gate and the sentries posted there that we could talk without fear of being overheard.

Even as I spoke, through the lingering mist, I spied an array of tents, more than I could easily count but numbering in the scores, arranged in rings around burnt-out campfires. A few men had emerged from them, but not many, and they looked barely able to stand. They sat upon the muddy ground outside their tents, groaning and holding their heads in their hands. One lay curled on the ground, his dog licking his face, eagerly trying to wake him from his stupor, while a pair of hogs that must have escaped their pen wandered the wreckage in search of morsels. Everywhere the ground was littered with wineskins and ale-flasks, with chicken bones from which strings of flesh still hung, with half-eaten hunks of bread, wooden bowls in which the remains of some kind of bean stew had frozen, browned apple cores, broken clay cups, knives and skewers, iron ladles, spoons carved from antler and bone, and empty casks half the height of a man, some of which had been overturned.

‘There was a feast last night,’ Eithne said at last, after passing on my question to the other girls. ‘A celebration.’

‘A celebration?’ Godric put in, frowning. ‘Of what?’

A smile crossed my face then, and I had to stifle a laugh as, even before Eithne had the chance to explain, I realised what had happened. Our ploy had worked better than I could ever have dared imagine.

Hardly had our two ships been sighted leaving his shores, she said, than Haakon had ordered two dozen barrels of ale brought up from his cellars, and another dozen of wine, and haunches of meat and rounds of cheese and all manner of other foodstuffs from his storehouses. There had been dancing and there had been singing, as the Dane and his followers savoured their victory and fell about with laughter at how he had driven us off with mere words, at how he had frightened us into fleeing. And so it had gone on most of the way through the night, until, insensible with drink, they had eventually given themselves up to sleep.

The deceiver had himself been deceived. He had been too ready to believe in appearances, and so he had let down his guard. He had underestimated us, underestimated our cunning. Now we would make him pay for that blunder.

A thrill awakened within me: a thrill of a kind I hadn’t known in what felt like an age. All the doubts, all the fears, all the misgivings that I’d harboured suddenly fell away. With every heartbeat, as I stared out across the yard and the debris left over from the feasting, my confidence grew.

For that was when I truly began to believe that we could do this. Victory was ours for the taking. All we had to do was to seize the opportunity we’d been given.

‘What now?’ Ælfhelm growled under his breath. He kept glancing about, as if expecting hordes of foemen to descend upon us at any moment.

‘Now we find my woman,’ I said, knowing that we had no time to lose. The past few days at sea had taught me that once this early fog did start to lift, it lifted quickly. Already it was decidedly thinner now than it had been when we’d ambushed Haakon’s men. Whereas before we could barely see further than a stone’s throw, now I was able to see on the far side of the enclosure the faint outlines of barns and storehouses, halls and workshops, stables and chicken-pens. Above the palisade to the east, meanwhile, the sun’s disc was struggling to make itself shown, its feeble light just about visible through the gloom.

Earlier, with Eithne’s help, I’d described Oswynn to the slaves, and asked if they knew her. It was as I’d feared when Haakon showed me the marriage-band on her finger. He wasn’t keeping her as a mere house-servant, or a dairymaid or corn-grinder or washerwoman. As if I’d believed for a heartbeat that he would. Rather, she was one of the chosen few he often liked to take to his bed. They were quartered separately from the other thralls, in a building close by his own hall, from which they could be readily summoned at a moment’s notice whenever Haakon’s lusts consumed him. My blood boiled at the thought.

‘They’re well treated,’ Eithne had added. ‘They’re fed well, better than his other slaves, at least, and he makes sure they always have the finest clothes-’

I’d stopped her before she’d been able to go on. Eithne hadn’t been with us when we’d met Haakon the previous day. She hadn’t seen the bruises decorating Oswynn’s cheek, or how thin she looked.

Those thoughts were foremost in my mind now, as I bade Eithne ask the slave-girls where I could find this building where Oswynn was being held. No sooner had she finished speaking than they began pointing in the direction of a long stone-and-thatch hall in the far corner of the enclosure, and the squat, low-gabled house that stood beside it.

So near. Little more than a hundred paces stood between myself and Oswynn. My throat was dry and I swallowed to moisten it. Soon I would be able to hold her, as I hadn’t held her in three long years.

‘Go with the girls,’ I told Eithne. ‘Get word to the other slaves. Tell them there’s going to be a battle, but that they have nothing to fear from us. They’ll be safe provided that they stay out of sight of Haakon’s men. So long as they’re ready to leave this place when his hall goes up in flames, I can guarantee them freedom. Can you remember all that?’

‘I think so,’ she replied, somewhat stiffly. ‘I’m not stupid, you know.’

‘Then don’t waste time quarrelling with me. Go now.’

Her eyes betrayed her anxiety, but she did as she was told without further argument. I watched the four of them go, still carrying those pails lest anyone looking on suspected there was something awry.

‘Come on,’ I said to the others. ‘We can’t tarry here.’

A cock crowed, heralding the morning, but that was the only sound to break the stillness. Leaving the horses tethered to a post, we trudged across the muddy yard towards that low building. Icy water seeped into my boots, making my toes numb, as we skirted our way around the tents and the men camped there, walking with purpose but at the same time trying not to make it seem as though we were in a hurry.

Two of Haakon’s huscarls were posted outside the entrance to the stone hall, decked out in mail hauberks that fell past their knees. Their long-handled axes and bright-painted round shields rested up against the wall and they were pacing about, rubbing gloved hands together and blowing into them to try to warm them, muttering to one another and occasionally snorting in laughter. They must be the only people in the whole of Jarnborg, I reckoned, who were not still nursing the effects of the previous night’s feasting. They both cast a glance in our direction as we approached. I tensed, but then after a few heart-seizing moments they turned away to resume their conversation, and paid us no more attention. And why should they? We were, by all appearances, merely four of their countrymen, stretching their limbs on a cold winter’s morning. If they’d seen us at close hand they might have thought differently, but most likely they saw our helmets and guessed we had simply decided to rise early for some sword practice in the yard. Perhaps if they had dwelt on that assumption a little longer, they might have questioned why it was that we four were so keen when everyone else in camp still lay huddled in their blankets. Perhaps then their suspicions might have been aroused. Obviously they were too concerned with other things, however, since no challenge came.

We rounded the main hall, past the stables and the mounds of dung that had been shovelled into heaps outside, towards that low-gabled house. There was no sentry guarding the entrance here, but the door was stout, built of oak or some other heavy timber, and fitted with a sturdy iron lock and ring-handle. I glanced back over my shoulder to see if those two huscarls had followed us, but could not see them, although I heard their laughter from around the corner. Satisfied that no one was watching, I descended the steps towards the door, which was slightly below the level of the ground. I gripped the cold handle, gently twisting it until I heard the latch lift, then pushed, slowly but firmly, more in hope than in expectation, for I didn’t expect to find it unlocked.

But unlocked it was. Silently, without so much as a creak of hinges, the door swung open, much to my surprise. Truly God’s favour was shining upon us that morning.

Without further hesitation we ventured inside. A small, sparsely furnished chamber greeted us. A pair of stools stood in the middle of the floor, on one of which was a lantern, the candle within burnt down to its last inch, while on the other rested a knife with a short, curved blade and a thick handle, and a crude wood-whittling of what I supposed was meant to be a horse, since it had a head and mane and bridle, and the beginnings of a saddle, but for some strange reason the animal had not just four legs, but eight. There was no sign of anyone. Perhaps the sentry had gone to find another candle to work by, in which case we probably didn’t have much time before he returned.

Another door led off this small guardroom, but Magnus tried it and found it locked. ‘No luck,’ he said.

‘We’ll break it down,’ Ælfhelm said as he shrugged off his cloak. ‘Let me-’

‘No,’ I said sharply. ‘If you do that, someone’s bound to hear. You’ll end up bringing every single sword-Dane in this place upon us.’

‘What do you suggest, then?’

I glanced about the chamber, in case perhaps the key had been left lying somewhere, though I knew it was a futile hope.

‘If we had a fishhook we could pick it,’ Magnus said, glancing around as if half expecting one of us to have one hidden somewhere on our person. ‘Or a nail, maybe. Anything like that.’

I looked doubtfully at him. Somehow it seemed unlikely that one of noble birth such as he, the usurper’s son, would have had reason to learn the art of lock-picking. ‘And you know how to do that, do you?’

‘No, but we could try.’

‘I’ve seen it done, when I lost the key to my chest last winter,’ Ælfhelm put in. ‘Dubgall the smith’s son showed me how.’

‘You’ve done it before?’

‘No, but if a boy of eleven can manage it, then it can’t be that difficult, can it?’

‘We don’t have time for this,’ I said with mounting frustration. I didn’t know who Dubgall the smith’s son was, and even if he happened to be the wiliest thief in Christendom, I didn’t much care, for he wasn’t here, and this was no time for us to begin teaching ourselves his craft. At any moment the Dane whose wood-carving that was could return.

‘Do you have any better suggestions?’ Magnus asked.

I gave a sigh. ‘Go outside and keep watch,’ I told Godric. ‘If you see anyone approaching, come and let us know straightaway.’

‘Yes, lord,’ the boy said, and scurried back out into the open. Daylight flooded in briefly before we were plunged back into lantern-light as he closed the heavy door behind him.

I snatched up the whittling-knife that rested on the stool and passed it to Ælfhelm. ‘Will this work?’

He took it, turning the stubby blade over so that it caught the light. ‘We can try it,’ he said, kneeling down in front of the lock, and with his free hand gave a click of his fingers. ‘I need light. Bring me that lantern.’

I did so, holding it up so that its faint light shone inside the keyhole, while he peered at whatever levers and springs were housed within. I wondered that he could see anything at all, but after a short while he lifted the curved blade, which was just narrow enough, and slid it into the lock. His brow furrowed, listening carefully for the sound of the mechanism, he turned it first in one direction, then in the other, muttering curses to himself.

‘Faster,’ I hissed in between glances towards the door. ‘If this is going to take all morning-’

‘Don’t hurry me,’ the huscarl said. ‘Give me time.’

‘We don’t have time,’ I muttered, but he didn’t seem to hear me. His eyes narrowed in concentration as, using both hands to steady the handle, he turned the blade upwards, then widened again as a hint of a smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. He twisted again-

There was a click, so faint as to be almost imperceptible. Ælfhelm’s smile broadened. Beaming from ear to ear, he looked up, first at his lord and then at me.

‘And to think you doubted me.’ He withdrew the blade and gave the door a gentle push. It swung open into darkness.

I went first, holding the lantern high so as to light up the chamber beyond. ‘Oswynn?’

I tried not to speak too loudly for fear of being overheard, but my mind was running with a thousand thoughts, sweat was running from my brow and the breath caught in my chest. A dank smell hung in the air, as if a fire hadn’t been lit in some while. The hearth had been recently swept and fresh rushes had been laid. A tall ewer stood in the middle of the floor, next to an iron pisspot that needed to be emptied, for as I took another step inside I caught a whiff of its contents. Benches ran down each wall, and on each one were heaped crumpled blankets. I cast the lantern’s light down their length, until at the far end I found, huddled together, their eyes wide and white-glistening in the candlelight, three women who, had they not been trembling in fear, I would probably have called pretty.

Oswynn was not among them.

Before we could speak with them and try to find out where she was, however, I heard the sound of feet descending the timber steps that led down to the outer door. Godric had come to tell us that the guard was on his way back, I thought. I turned back into the guardroom as the door opened and frigid air flooded in.

The figure who ducked beneath the lintel wasn’t Godric. Round of stomach, he had long, fair hair that trailed from beneath a woollen cap, with a moustache and beard to match. In one hand he held a whetstone and, in the other, a lump of cheese from which he was just about to take a bite when he saw us. And froze.

His jaw hung agape in surprise and confusion, and I saw the half-chewed remains of his last mouthful. He stood there, blinking, for what felt like an hour but could only have been a heartbeart, his expression slowly hardening.

‘Hverir eruth er?’ he barked. ‘Hvat gerith er?’

I glanced at Magnus, who was the only one among us who spoke their tongue, but it seemed he had no reply to whatever it was the Dane had said. That was when the round-bellied one noticed the door to the other chamber lying open. Whether he quite realised we were foemen or not, he saw that we meant trouble. Suddenly alert, he reached for the sword belted to his waist. He took a deep breath as if about to call out, and I knew that if he did our plans would be dashed like a ship against a cliff-face, and we would all be dead men. I started forward, reaching for my hilt, hoping to run him through-

I never had the chance. Before I had even got within five paces of him, he stopped mid-movement. His eyes glazed over abruptly and rolled back in his head. The faintest of gasps escaped his lips as his sword-hilt slipped from his limp fingers and tumbled with a dull clang to the hard floor, and then he too collapsed forwards, landing in a crumpled, bloodied heap, revealing the knife in the back of his neck.

In the doorway stood the one who had killed him. Godric. As if it could possibly have been anyone else.

‘You seem to be making a habit of this,’ I said drily.

‘Of what, lord?’ Godric asked.

I bent down to drag the Dane’s corpse away from the doorway, lest anyone walking by should see it, although of course we could do nothing about the blood pooling amidst the woodchips.

‘Help me move him,’ I said to Ælfhelm, who was closest to me. ‘If you take his legs, I’ll take his shoulders,’ I added, before answering the boy’s question: ‘Of striking down your opponents from behind. You know that sooner or later you’re going to have to learn how to kill them from the front as well, don’t you?’

‘At least I did kill him, lord,’ he replied. ‘Now you owe me again.’

I glanced up. ‘For what?’

‘For saving our lives.’

I supposed that was only fair. ‘I’m sure I’ll have the chance to repay the favour before long. Now, close that door,’ I said, and tossed him the ring of keys that I’d removed from the foeman’s belt. ‘Lock it, too. I don’t want his friends stumbling upon us.’

Godric didn’t need telling twice, but did as instructed, while the huscarl and I hauled the Dane’s corpulent frame through to the second chamber. No sooner had the women set eyes upon the dead guard, than they began shrieking, loud enough to wake the dead. It was a good thing that the door was indeed closed. As it was, I could only hope that no one heard.

‘Keep them quiet,’ I told Godric and Magnus as we laid the potbellied one down on one of the benches and then covered him over with some of the coarse blankets.

The women quickly shut up as the others approached, but I didn’t want them to fear us. We needed their help, just as we had needed the help of the water-carriers. Ælfhelm fetched the lantern, and brought it in so that we might have some light.

‘Tell them we don’t mean them any harm,’ I said to Magnus. ‘Tell them we’re looking for someone.’

‘Who are you?’ the middle one of the three women asked after I’d finished speaking. Dark-haired and generously endowed both in chest and in the hips, which I supposed must be how Haakon liked them, she regarded us uneasily. ‘What do you want with us?’

I stared dumbly at her. For some reason I’d assumed that, Oswynn excepted, we would find only Danish and Irish girls, since they were the most often captured and traded in these parts. She had spoken, though, as I had, in English.

‘We’re here to kill Haakon,’ Magnus said. ‘We want nothing from you, we swear upon our lives.’

Her eyes held an expression I couldn’t read, although it was somewhere between shock and joy, and closer to shock. ‘You’re going to kill him?’ she asked. She had a voice like a summer’s breeze, I thought: warm and soft and light.

‘If we can,’ I answered.

‘The four of you, alone?’

‘We have friends on their way,’ I said. ‘There’s no time to explain everything. What do they call you?’

‘Eanflæd,’ she replied.

A pretty name, I thought, for a girl who, even though I was in the middle of searching for another, I admitted was attractive.

‘Tell me, Eanflæd, do you know of an English girl by the name of Oswynn? Do you know where I can find her?’

‘Oswynn?’ she repeated, and my heart stood still. ‘Y-yes, I know her.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Haakon took her, last night.’

‘Took her where?’

She looked at me as if I were stupid, and I suppose I was, but only because love had made me that way. ‘Where do you think?’ she asked. ‘To his chamber. After the feast was over, he called for her-’

I held up a hand to stop her from going on. How we were going to get inside Haakon’s hall, when there were two of his household warriors posted at the entrance and undoubtedly countless more inside, I didn’t know. Soon, of course, they would spot Wyvern and Nihtegesa approaching, and I was counting on exploiting the resulting confusion to allow us to do what we had come here for. But what if something went wrong, or the waters were too rough or the wind gusting too strongly? What if Haakon didn’t react in the way that we hoped to the threat to his ships? How then would we be able to find Oswynn, let alone get out of Jarnborg?

All these thoughts were running through my mind when the knocking began. At once I stopped still. There were men outside, shouting in words I didn’t understand, pounding on the oak door.

A shiver ran through me. Some of the dead man’s friends must have heard the women’s screams, and had come to find out what was happening.

‘Quiet,’ I hissed, pointing at Eanflæd. ‘Not a sound.’

She nodded and then whispered in the ears of the other two, in whatever language it was they spoke. There was no other way out of this place. I swore violently, under my breath.

‘I could talk to them,’ Magnus offered.

‘And say what?’ I countered. Would the Danes be so dim-witted as to mistake his voice for that of their pot-bellied friend? Even if they did, how was he to explain why the door was locked, or the reason for the screaming?

Outside, the pounding grew more insistent, the shouts louder and angrier. They couldn’t yet know there were four of us, or guess who we were, or why we were here. All of those things they would soon work out, however, as soon as they came through that door, saw our barricade, realised that they didn’t recognise our faces and that we didn’t speak their tongue. When that happened, we could abandon all hope of leaving this place alive.

Every man’s luck ran out eventually. There were few truths greater than that. We had done well to make it this far, but I ought to have known this could only end badly. Now we would pay the price for our recklessness.

Yet I would not give up easily. Not without a fight.

‘Barricade the door,’ I said. ‘Bring that cooking-pot across, and anything else we can use.’

The inner of the two doorways could only be locked from the outside, which meant we had no choice but to make our stand in the small guard-chamber. While Magnus and Ælfhelm together manoeuvred the iron cauldron across the floor, Godric and I set the heavy bar in place across the door, so that even if they did manage to unlock it, they would still have to break it down.

‘What can we do?’ Eanflæd called from the other room.

‘Nothing,’ I said, ‘except pray for our sakes that they don’t get in.’

I helped Magnus and Aelfhelm overturn the cauldron on to its rim so that it would be more difficult for our foes to tip over, and then we set about piling whatever other obstacles we could find against the door. Some of the benches were fixed to the walls, but some were not, and we dragged those that we could in front of the doorway so that anyone coming through would with any luck trip and make it easier for us to kill them.

There was a jangle of metal as the enemy tried the lock. I heard it click, and heard, too, their cries of success, short-lived as they were as the foemen found the door barred against them. The oak rattled against the stout bar, and through the gap between the door and its frame I heard them shouting. How many were out there, it was impossible to say, but from the noise I reckoned there had to be at least half a dozen already, and such a commotion would only attract more. What they thought was happening in here, I could only guess. Maybe they thought that their friend the wood-whittler had allowed his lusts to get the better of him and had decided to have his way with his lord’s most prized bed-slaves.

In the other room, one of the women began shrieking again, and I cursed.

‘Keep her quiet,’ I called through to Eanflæd, although by then it was already too late.

Sooner or later the enemy would break through and slaughter us. They had to, for they were many and we were few. Nonetheless, if this was my day to die, then I was determined to take as many as I could with me to my grave.

Swords drawn, we stood facing the door, watching it shudder. I imagined a horde of flaxen-haired Danes lining up outside, each waiting for his turn to test his shoulder against the timbers. Then, without warning, the pounding ceased. I glanced at the others, raising a hand so that they knew not to speak. But the respite was only brief. The silence was broken by the unmistakable sound of an axe-blade biting into wood. Again the door shook. It wouldn’t be long.

‘I didn’t think I’d ever go to my death fighting shoulder to shoulder with a Norman,’ Magnus said to me in what was barely more than a whisper. ‘But you have been a steadfast ally, and for that I thank you.’

‘And you,’ I replied solemnly, without looking at him, without glancing either to left or to right. My gaze was fixed firmly on the door as I waited for the timbers to give way and for the first of our foemen to burst through. ‘May God grant our sword-arms strength.’

Neither Ælfhelm nor Godric spoke. Possibly they were both lost in prayer or thought, rehearsing in their minds what they would do when the enemy came upon us, imagining how they would strike and how they would spill Danish blood. Or possibly they simply realised, as I did, that there was nothing more to say.

All I could think about were the things I regretted. Not being able to see Oswynn one last time. Not taking my vengeance upon Haakon for what he had done. Bringing Godric with me on this expedition. For all that recent weeks had changed him, he was still not much more than a boy, eager and full of promise. Now that promise was to be snuffed out because of me.

Beneath my helmet my brow was running with sweat. It trickled off my brow, stinging my eyes. The dim lantern-light played across the surface of my blade and lit up the turquoise stone decorating the pommel, and I felt the cord wrapped around the hilt digging into my palm as I gripped it tight. Like Rollant defending to the last the pass against the pagan hordes of King Marsilius, so I too would go bravely to my death. This was my stand, my Rencesvals, I thought bitterly.

The door timbers flexed as the axe struck again. The door couldn’t hold much longer, surely. In another few blows splinters would fly, the enemy would be through. And then the slaughter would begin.

‘Stay close,’ I murmured. ‘Don’t let them draw you out. If they break through the barricade, fall back to the second room. Remember that each one we cut down is another corpse that his friends will have to climb over before they reach us. We will hold fast. We will fill the morning with their blood.’

I almost followed that by raising a cry for Normandy and for King Guillaume, so familiar had those words grown in recent years, so instinctive had they become, just as the movements of the thrust and parry, the cut and the slice were ingrained through long hours of practice into my limbs, into my soul. But I choked them back, realising even as the phrases formed upon my tongue what an affront to Magnus it would be to utter them, and indeed how little they now meant to me. The friends and allies, present and absent, who had supported me in this endeavour were the only men, the only causes, in whose names I now fought.

For Magnus and Ælfhelm. For Godric, Serlo and Pons. For Aubert, for Eudo and for Wace.

The door flexed once more. The hinges made a terrible shearing sound, and the bar that we’d set in place trembled. Another blow followed, and suddenly the planks were cracking along the grain, buckling under the force of the impact. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, letting the sweetness of the air roll across my tongue, quelling the fears that dwelt at the back of my mind and burying them deep, doing my best to still my fast-beating heart and allow the battle-calm to overtake me, steeling myself for what was to come. Readying myself to meet my God.

Then the sound of steel upon oak ceased, and I opened my eyes, expecting to see the first of the foemen staggering beneath the lintel. The first who would die.

But though the shouting continued, the door still stood. At first I couldn’t understand what was happening, why the enemy seemed to have given up. I glanced at the others and saw the same bewilderment in their expressions. Only then did I hear the horns sounding out across the camp: a series of rapid, insistent blasts followed by a single sustained note. Again the pattern was repeated, and again, and a fourth and a fifth time as well. And though their words were a mystery to me, I realised from their tones that the Danes standing beyond the door were suddenly crying out for a different reason: no longer out of haste to break down the door and discover what was going on in this hall, but in confusion and alarm.

Feet thudded upon turf, steadily growing further away from us. From the din that was erupting outside I reckoned the whole camp had to be rising. It didn’t take me long to guess the reason why.

They had come. Nihtegesa and Wyvern had come, and not a moment too soon.