Vikings!
Saxon Holocaust
Volume Two
By
Keith Scrivener
Mirador Publishing
First Published by Mirador Publishing at Smashwords
Copyright 2011 by Keith Scrivener
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
All right reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without permission of the publishers or author. Excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
First edition: 2011
Any reference to real names and places are purely fictional and are constructs of the author. Any offence the references produce is unintentional and in no way reflect the reality of any locations involved.
A copy of this work is available though the British Library.
IBSN : 978-1-908200-51-8
With thanks to the following people:
Valerie Ball my superb editor and good friend whose contribution to my books’ development and eventual publication was immense.
Rosie Brooke my Open University tutor on the Start Writing Fiction course, for her continued inspiration and encouragement.
David Childs of ‘Dave in the Doghouse’ for the great cover pictures.
d_e_childs-doghousephotos@yahoo.com
Holly Dixon and Lewis Childs my cover models.
… and last but by no means least,
Meryl Scrivener my wife, for her help and patience.
Historical Prologue
In AD 43 the Romans invaded Britain and in the process protected it for 367 years. That was until 410 when Emperor Honorius withdrew all the Roman army from Britain to protect his homeland from barbarian attacks. Because of the Romans’ exodus, historians consider this period to be the beginning of the Dark Ages. This was because the Britons had no standing armies, leaving them vulnerable to attack.
During the early 400s Vortigern became King of much of Britain. As he had no army he invited the Saxons under Hengist and Horsa into Britain as mercenaries to help fight the invading Scots and Picts. After marrying Hengist's daughter, Rowena, Vortigern gave the Saxons what is now the county of Kent to live in under their own rule. In 449 the Angles, a German tribe, invaded what we still called East Anglia. Around the year 500 the land of the Angles was shortened to England. The adjacent territories of Wales and Scotland they called Britannium. Then, in 527, the East Saxons took over the area we call Essex; this included the town of London.
The Anglo-Saxon divisions of England were ethnically divided as follows:
Jutes colonized and ruled in Kent and the Isle of White
East Saxons ruled Essex.
South Saxons Sussex
West Saxons Wessex.
Angles ruled in East Anglia
Angles ruled Middle Anglia, also called Mercia
Angles additionally ruled in Northumberland to the north.
At around the same time, in the fifth century, an Aryan tribe was under attack by the invading forces of Islam. This was far away from Britain in the Himalayan Mountains of the Punjab in India. Not wanting to fight themselves, they recruited surrounding war-like tribes to do it for them. This army, collectively known as the Roma, fought so fiercely they defended the territory successfully for around a hundred years. But in the sixth century the Muslims finally cut off the Roma army from their homeland. The Roma army, including their wives and children, had no choice but to leave India. After Crossing the Himalayas they travelled via the Silk Road into Western Europe. As they moved across new lands, the Roma didn’t attempt to subjugate the other races or appropriate their lands although they were militarily strong enough to do so. Instead they integrated into those societies with many fighting as mercenaries for their hosts. For example, around 1450 AD thousands of Roma warriors fought against the Turks in Wallachia, Romania, in the army of Vlad Dracul, known as Vlad the Impaler or Dracula.
At the end of the eighth century, raids by seaborne Scandinavian pirates began on Britain, especially undefended monastic sites. The beginning of the first Viking Age is considered to have been in 793 when the raiding Norsemen attacked the monastery on Lindisfarne, Holy Island, in Northumbria. These early raids were usually brutal for relatively small-scale thefts of valuables. Later invasions were aimed at finding land where the raiders could settle. By the end of the ninth century there were large-scale settlements and political domination by Scandinavians in various parts of Britain. This included most of the eastern coastal area, where this novel is set.
Alfred the Great, (848 –899) King of Wessex in the south and southwest, fought and reclaimed much of the rest of southern England from the Vikings. Alfred was succeeded by his son Edward the Elder (899-924). Edward and his sister Æthelflæd, widow of the Mercian king, re-conquered the rest of the south of England from the Danes, including Mercia reaching into the midlands. Having reclaimed Essex from the Vikings, Edward the Elder and his men camped at Essex’s second biggest town Maldon while having the Witham Burh (Castle) built. Edward later arranged to have an earth-walled Burh constructed at Maldon, in part to house his royal mint. Upon his death, his son Æthelstan (924-939) continued to retake England for the Saxons. Edmund his brother succeeded him (939 to 946.) Then another brother, Edred, from (946 to 955.) Edwy (Eadwig) was next (955-959), followed by Edgar the Peaceable from (959-975). Edgar was succeeded by his eldest son, Edward the Martyr.
However, Edward was murdered, aged sixteen, in 978 at Corfe Castle, Dorset. This may have been on the orders of his stepmother so that her (even younger) son, Edwards’s half-brother, Aethelred, could come to power. Aethelred was at some time nicknamed Aethelred the Unred, meaning ill advised. Much later a translator wrongly interpreted Unred as Unready and that has been erroneously used in teaching history.
The period including King Aethelred’s reign is considered by historians to be the dawning of the second Viking age. This was very different from the first Viking age in that the raids were on a far larger scale and frequently organised by royal leaders. These huge fleets of longships carried raiders whose objective was to gain massive amounts of valuables by extortion, called Danegeld. This was protection money to leave the Saxons in peace. However, paying this proved to be a waste of silver as with most blackmail incidents; once paid the Vikings kept returning demanding more and in even larger amounts.
Meanwhile the Roma nation, forced from the Punjab in the fifth century, had by the tenth century spent the intervening five hundred years spreading across Europe. The first written reports of Roma, in England, were in the early 1500’s. However, recent DNA testing has proved that some Roma (now called Romanies) had actually arrived in Britain about five hundred years earlier than the written evidence suggested. For these early Romani visitors to Britain, finding work as Saxon or indeed Viking mercenaries was a logical career choice.
This novel is set in Essex, the land of the East Saxons, commencing in the year 888 AD during the reign of King Aethelred the second.
The North Pole has moved position several times during our planet’s past. When the pole was situated at the Yukon it was linked by latitude to several exceptionally sacred sites. These include Machu Picchu, Nanking, Stonehenge, and Mersea Island in Essex, near to Maldon. Because of this, paranormal activity has been endemic in the area of the Essex coast where this novel is set. So the novel’s sub-plot includes aspects of Essex’s metaphysical past.
I must emphasize that apart from the obvious historical information, this novel is entirely a work of fiction. I do not intend to rewrite history.
One
The massive Viking Berserker swung his heavy bladed battleaxe with awesome power onto the Saxon leader’s shield. The force of the mighty blow violently flung the Ealdorman on his back onto the saltings of the Stour estuary. As the old noble tried to rise and counter attack the Berserker swung his battleaxe blade into the Saxon’s helmet, cleaving his skull beneath it. Ealdorman Purstan was dead before his lifeless body sank face forward into the Stour estuary’s brackish water.
Ella, the daughter of the now stricken Ealdorman, had been watching the battle from a nearby rise. She was horrified, realizing she would never see her hero father’s smile again. Ealdorman Purstan was a general; King Aethelred’s representative in Kent. Purstan had won every battle before this fateful July day in 989 AD.
Earlier in the day, sixteen-year-old Ella had been married to her childhood sweetheart, Gadd, in the little Christian church in Sandwich, Kent. The old priest, Brother Ealhelm, had pronounced them man and wife and the happy couple looked forward to their life together.
Unfortunately for them, fate intervened. A bloodied and bedraggled old man rode up to the sacred building, hurriedly dismounted and then collapsed in the doorway. The terrified wretch had ridden the twenty-two miles from Folkestone to warn them they were in mortal danger. The old sheep trader, shaking with terror, screamed, “Vikings… murdered everybody in Folkestone; I’m the only survivor. They are all dead… men, women, children and even tiny babies. The Vikings are sailing this way. They have a vast army. Run for your lives, it’s your only chance!”
Ella noticed the grey mane of Myrcon’s pony, indicating the animal’s own great age. The ancient stallion’s withers were flecked with foam. Its heart was beating fast and it laboured with each breath; it was obvious to Ella that Myrcon had galloped his old pony non-stop from Folkestone.
Before anyone could ask Myrcon any questions, he’d remounted his pony and ridden off, shouting that he was going to Canterbury to beg the garrison for help. Disastrously, his pony’s fetlocks gave way and the animal crashed to the ground, pitching Myrcon onto his head. Brother Ealhelm just had time to read him the last rites before he died beside the lifeless body of his faithful pony.
The new bride’s tears ran down her cheeks as she realised that this meant nobody from Folkestone had survived the Viking holocaust.
Heeding Myrcon’s warning, Ella’s father, Ealdorman Purstan, had sent envoys to drum up reinforcements from the local Men of Kent’s Thegns in Canterbury, to the Kentish Men west of the river Medway and even to London. Purstan knew that by the time King Aethelred learned of the threat it would be too late to stop the present attack. But if he and his Men of Kent could hold on long enough Aethelred’s army should be able to sweep the invaders into the sea.
The Ealdorman led his force with Ella’s new husband Eldor Gadd as his deputy, to the coast intent on defending the residents of the town of Sandwich. He had just over two hundred Huscarls, the trained soldiers, and some farmers with bows and farm implements as back up.
Myrcon had not said how many longships there were. But Ella knew a show of strength had been enough to dissuade previous insurgents from landing. She watched with pride as her father and new husband, Gadd, led their troops to repel the invaders. She spotted movement near the headland and three longships came into view. The Saxons shook their shields and swords aloft defiantly in the Vikings’ direction. Ella was on edge; the Saxon warriors should be able to deter this number of Vikings. Then she and her new husband could consummate their marriage.
Ella was of royal blood, being a direct descendant of the British King Vortigern and Rowena, daughter of Hengist, the South Saxons’ leader. Ella had been educated in a nunnery in London with King Aethelred’s youngest daughter, Princess Catherine, whom she called Kate. The girls had been taught the history of the Kent coast invasions… that just over a hundred years before, in 893 AD, a huge fleet of two hundred and fifty Danish longships had landed in Kent. The Vikings had made landfall at the Lympne Estuary about forty miles south of Sandwich. Finding a half-completed fort at Appledore near Ashford, the Vikings attacked and took full control of it. They also built a fort approximately forty miles north of Sandwich at Milton Regis, near Sittingbourne. This had been during King Alfred’s reign.
In 894 AD, Alfred’s army attacked the Danes at Milton. At the same time the Danes at Appledore left their camp and Alfred’s son Edward, leading another Saxon army, caught them at Farnham. This forced the Vikings to retreat to Mersea Island at the mouth of the River Colne in Essex. Coincidently, this was near to where Ella’s cousin had moved to marry her fiancé. In fact Kate had told Ella that Mersea Island was reputed to have many ancient spectral apparitions.
The historical fact that the Saxons had put such a vast Viking army to flight comforted her, believing that even if the current invading Vikings had initial successes in Kent, they would be destroyed eventually by King Aethelred’s army. She prayed her father’s envoy would reach the king in time.
Concerned for her father and new husband’s safety she strained her eyes at her limited view of the horizon. Then Ella’s blood ran cold. More Norse craft appeared, until there were Viking longships as far as her eyes could see. She felt compelled to count them, eighty, ninety, ninety-three altogether.
She screamed at the top of her voice towards the Saxon defence force.
“For God’s sake all of you, fall back, there must be thousands of them…”
But she was too late; the Saxons were already attacking the first Vikings to land. Initially the Saxons were equal to the invaders. But then many more Viking longships beached and the Norsemen poured ashore. In minutes an overwhelming force of Norwegian Vikings surrounded the Saxons.
Ella’s father, the Ealdorman, and his retainers were too courageous for their own good. They’d all taken oaths to fight to the death and now for these heroes, death seemed inevitable. That was when Ella saw her father killed. And with their leader fallen, his huscarls’ obligation under their fidelity oath was to die with him.
Ella saw Gadd, her husband of a just few hours, fighting bravely. She watched as he killed a Viking with his javelin but then her spouse and only true love went down under flailing clubs.
Within a very short time Viking arrows, spears and swords had massacred the flower of Sandwich’s Men of Kent. Ella knew Gadd had no chance of survival; she had become a widow on her wedding day. She also realized that unless they ran for it now, she and her Sandwich kinsfolk and neighbours would all be massacred.
Ella shook uncontrollably, the full horror freezing her blood.
The old priest, Brother Ealhelm, touched Ella’s shoulder. “Our men are with their God,” he whispered. “We must try to save the women and children before it’s too late, my child.”
Ella knew the priest was right. The Vikings were already swarming towards Sandwich. She had to try to help the others. They ran through the little township shouting warnings, but it was already too late.
The priest went to the church and tried to welcome the Vikings to its confines. The heathen Norsemen took no notice of his entreaties and a Viking sword slashed the clergyman’s head from his shoulders. The Norsemen were stealing everything of value, silver candlesticks from the church, coins, even foodstuff.
Any Saxons still alive, mostly old folk and children, were herded into the church and then it was set alight, burning them alive.
Most of the young girls were dragged to the longships where they were stripped and raped. Ella had hidden in the priest hole that Brother Ealhelm had pushed her into. But as the church burnt and the children screamed in agony and terror, her resolve to stay and die with them wavered. The stench of burning human flesh from the church and the acrid smoke that choked her was bad, but when the flames burnt her arms and legs the self-preservation reflex kicked in and she left her hiding place and sprinted towards the cover of the forest.
She almost made it but a Viking, riding bareback on a horse that he’d stolen locally, was hunting her down. By this time she was into the scrubland and threw herself bodily into a gorse patch. Although badly scratched and burnt she kept as still as possible with her heartbeat surging wildly as she shivered in terror. Several other Vikings caught up with the rider and on his orders were searching for her. They passed her hiding place and she thought for a moment she was safe. But one turned, noticed her and dragged her out into the open. This Viking, no more than a boy, ripped off her bodice and she had no illusions as to what would come next.
However, the rider shouted something guttural that perhaps was an order in Norwegian. Ella had no idea what was said but the Viking she’d sensed was about to defile her instead threw her roughly to the ground near the rider. Ella tried to cover her chest with the remains of her clothing. While she did so she looked tentatively up at the rider. He was a colossus; muscular and taller than any man she’d ever seen.
The huge man shouted something else in Norwegian and another Viking appeared beside her. She had given up hope now and awaited her fate, whatever it was to be.
The second Viking grabbed her gown.
“So it’s still going to happen,” she thought, “just different abusers.”
However, the Viking spoke in accented Saxon.
“Why are you wearing this high quality maroon robe?”
She didn’t answer.
The man continued, “I have lived in your country and tell you if you do not answer satisfactorily my leader, Prince Olaf Tryggvasson,” he pointed at the giant on the horse, “will let all his men have your body for their sport. You will be in constant pain and not survive. But if you have value to my lord as a bargaining chip he will spare you until your kin pay him ransom in silver.”
This sounded logical to Ella and as it was her only chance, she spoke.
“I am Royal. I am King Aethelred’s niece and I am worth much silver as ransom.” This was nearly true, but just a few generations removed.
Her interrogator spoke to Tryggvasson who gestured in reply and then rode off. The interpreter tied Ella’s hands behind her back and she was taken to the largest longship. Once on board she was lashed to one of the sides. Some young girls from Sandwich and Folkestone were tied to the mast, most lying semi-naked, bruised and uncomprehending. Ella knew how they were feeling; her life, as she knew it, was also over. Her future would be one of anguish.
The Longship moved from the smooth flow of the river Stour into the rough waters of the English Channel. Ella had never been on the sea and soon became violently ill. She was sick all down the remnants of her torn gown. It smelt foul, making her more nauseous and she vomited again. This was repeated until nothing remained in her stomach, yet still her guts tried to empty until it hurt so badly. As well as her sickness, she grieved for her father, her husband and all her town’s population, especially the children. She cried soundlessly. What should have been the best day of her life, her marriage to her sweetheart, had turned into her worst nightmare. Her old life was now lost forever.
She lay in her own filth on the heaving deck of her enemy’s longship and watched with a sullen, uninterested gaze, the galley slaves pulling on the long oars. One poor wretch was covered in dried blood, his face so swollen and contorted with extreme bruising that his eyes were mere slits. The shell of a man trembled and was being violently seasick but had to keep pulling the oar in time with the others. If he slackened for a moment a Viking overseer lashed his already grotesquely bruised face with a thin stick.
Ella watched the bruised and bloodied creature with morbid curiosity. He was in such a state she thought he would collapse and die at any moment. Then she noticed a bone clip pin holding the remnants of his Saxon jerkin together. She had seen it, or one like it, somewhere before. She retched again and again but nothing came up from her empty, aching guts.
Through her tears, she studied the disfigured rower. That jerkin pin… it was the same as her new husband had worn when they married.
“My God,” she thought, “that mound of bruised flesh is my husband, Gadd. He has survived, if only just.”
For a moment her heart leapt; she wasn’t a widow after all. But in the next instant Ella realized it was not good. If Gadd had been killed, his suffering would have been over. Now they would both die horribly, sometime soon. This was just another extension of their torment. Although bride and groom were in relatively close proximity to each other, both were nearer to hell than paradise.
The Viking interpreter spoke to her again. “Prince Olaf Tryggvasson, our grand leader, has instructed me to keep you in good condition so that we can obtain the most silver your ransom will bring.”
Ella, in the depths of depression, regarded the man with scorn; she was seconds from spitting in his face. Then a modicum of her warrior blood’s inbred facility for self-preservation surfaced. She forced herself to create a haughty expression that she hoped would reinforce her exaggerated claims to having a close royal bloodline.
The interpreter told her, “I am called Ravener, named after one of our great god Odin’s companion wolves. When we reach our next destination, Mersea Island in Essex, I will untie you. I will take you ashore, let you wash and provide you with a clean but basic gown. For now, here is bread and a pouch of water; eat and drink.”
Ella nodded her compliance and consumed the hard rye bread, washing it down with the dank water from the smelly leather pouch. Later the big longship grounded on what she supposed was Mersea Island. She watched as the dead body of a teenage girl was untied from the mast and unceremoniously thrown into the sea. At least that poor girl’s suffering was over, Ella reflected.
Ravener released her bonds and then helped her onto the sandy but stone-strewn beach. Leading her to a rock pool he instructed her to wash. Ravener politely turned his back but a group of teenage Vikings stared lustfully at her upper body that was only partially covered. Ravener shouted something at the boys in Norwegian and her potential rapists slunk away. Her interpreter turned towards her and handed her the promised new gown made of rough linen. Even he glanced appreciatively at her figure draped only in her ripped, wet clothing, but he allowed her some modesty by turning away again so that she could change.
Ella wondered if she could escape. Maybe she could run away into this Essex Island’s forests? Perhaps she could hide until the Vikings left and then make her way to a Saxon farm? She knew her cousin and friend, Kate, was in Essex at a town called Maldon. Although she had no idea where the Essex port was situated in relation to Mersea Island, she assumed the local Saxons would guide her.
However, this became just a daydream when Ravener fastened a thin hemp rope to her wrist, connected at the other end to his heavy leather belt. Apart from the ligature tether there were literally thousands of Norwegian Vikings on the island, many between her and the forest. Because of this she realized she could never escape into the wooded area. In any case, her husband Gadd was on the longship. Only hours ago they had married and she had promised to stick with him in sickness and in health. She knew she couldn’t leave him in his agony; they should die together rather than apart.
Some Vikings were gathering firewood and cooking meat stolen from her home town of Sandwich. Normally, the aroma emanating from the burning wood and roasting meat was a potent and heady mix, indicating pleasurable normality. However, after the slaughter and rape of her townsfolk, these smells seemed to be adding insult to injury. How could these men go on living as before while so many had just died in agony?
Picking up a few pieces of cooked horse meat, Ravener began eating some and handed a piece to her. Reluctantly she took it, knowing that the seasickness had emptied her stomach and she had to eat to keep her strength up for whatever lay ahead. She chewed the meat but found it hard to swallow and it made her feel sick again.
Ravener said, “Don’t be frightened. You will come to no harm as long as your Saxon King pays us enough silver in ransom. Come, I will show you why we have stopped at this particular island.”
The Viking led, or rather dragged her, along a flattened path through the otherwise dense forest. They came to a clearing that was filled with gigantic standing stones arranged in a double ring formation. Many Vikings were already there and stood, heads down, eyes closed, chanting endlessly in Norwegian.
“This is one of the most sacred sites in our known world,” Ravener whispered to her. “This is a place where we can commune with our heroes who have been lucky enough to die in battle and go straight to our Valhalla. My brother, Methner, has just reached our promised land, dying valiantly at Sandwich. He was killed by the Saxon leader before our Berserker’s axe sent him to your heaven.” Ravener began chanting with the other Vikings.
Suddenly Ella, still tied to her captor, began to feel light-headed. Not, this time, from fear and loathing of her captor’s homicidal actions. Not that.
She felt a force greater than anything she’d ever imagined. She caught her breath as she noticed a white-robed essence rising from one of the standing stones. Ella was paralysed with wonder as the essence spread around her. No Vikings seemed near her any more, just visions of strange beings. She perceived these were nucleus quintessential beings, perhaps from the bowels of the earth or from the beginning of time itself. What did it mean? Had she died? Was this the Vikings’ Valhalla that Ravener had told her about?
She somehow knew it was none of those things. This was a life force from a realm beyond any human psyche’s comprehension.
Two
At the same time as the raid on Sandwich in Kent, the young Romani warrior, Edward Lavengro, stood on the ramparts of the Maldon Burh. This was the Saxon dirt-walled castle in Essex. He was watching quizzically as two small Saxon fishing boats sailed towards the North Sea along the Blackwater Estuary. The yellow ochre coloured sails contrasted with the blues and greens of the sky and sea. Seals and seagulls followed in the crafts’ wakes.
Eddie had very recently been a slave twice over, under both the Norwegians and the East Saxons. However, after saving King Aethelred’s daughter, Princess Catherine, from Viking kidnappers, he’d been freed. When the Saxon leader, Ealdoman Byrhtnoth, discovered Eddie was multilingual he’d appointed the teenage Romani as interpreter to his son, Eldor Aefnoth, for his spying mission on the Vikings camped on Osea Island.
After gaining the confidence of Eric Greybeard, the Danish Viking leader, and fighting on the Danes’ side against the Norwegian Vikings, Eddie had brokered a Saxon alliance with the Norwegians. Consequently, he had been promoted to a mercenary Thegn and rewarded with lands at Maylandsea.
Later, Aefnoth confided to Eddie that he intended to break off his engagement to Princess Catherine and marry his long-term lover Athelflaed. He then suggested Eddie escort the princess to his new holdings while this matter was sorted out with the king. Eddie then tricked Princess Catherine, Kate, into kissing him. When she’d snuggled close to Eddie all his doubts had been forgotten, in fact they’d both been convinced that this exquisite sensation would go on forever…
However, the next day when alone, away from the ebullient and beguiling presence of the beautiful princess, Eddie became crestfallen. The reality of his lowly social position as a Romani, Saxon mercenary, compared to her royal rank and pure Saxon bloodline, hit him like a violent Viking battle axe. Even if King Aethelred agreed to put aside Kate’s engagement to Aefnoth, he would find a highborn suitor to form another political alliance that benefited his reign. It was unthinkable that the Monarch would allow a Romani mercenary only recently elevated from slavery to take Aefnoth’s position as his daughter’s spouse. Eddie knew his place; he was useful to the king as a mercenary soldier in his extended army but that was all. Now that he had faced the reality, Eddie resolved to enjoy as much of his princess’s company as possible. Even if it were as her servant, her bodyguard, it would be preferable to being parted from her presence. After all, she had decided to visit his newly acquired lands and halls in Maylandsea. She would be there with him at least.
It would be difficult for him as he was head over heels in love with her. But for her sake as well as for his own preservation, he must force himself to back off. With his position sorted in his mind he went to bed, but tossed and turned all night.
The following morning as arranged by Ealdoman Byrhtnoth, Eddie met Prior Esmond at the Burh. As it was a nice day, Esmond suggested they went outside for their chat. It was very pleasant, sunny with few clouds and only a slight breeze. As they were within the walls of the Burh it made the atmosphere muggy, decidedly humid, in fact. A flock of gulls flew overhead and several black and grey jackdaws strutted up and down near the kitchen area.
Esmond and Eddie walked round the top of the earthen ramparts of the Burh. Eddie had to admit that these fortifications were impressive. The Burh’s earth walls were rectangular and about fifteen yards high. With the total ramparts, Eddie guessed they were at least a mile in length.
On the four corners and in the centre of each long wall, there were bastions. Flanking towers built of stone that projected from the main earth banks, reaching twenty yards at the highest point. These had been positioned to give archers protection while they defended the sidewalls from attackers through the arrow slits. From these towers the archers could give cover to the ground in front and the sloping earth walls on either side.
Esmond led Eddie into the highest bastion. Ascending the narrow spiral staircase with such a low ceiling was difficult for a tall man like Eddie. Even Esmond, who was several inches shorter, had to bend to avoid the roof as he ascended the steep stone steps.
“These stairs were deliberately built to be difficult to climb,” Esmond told Eddie. “In that way, attackers find it harder to storm the towers. If they manage it at all, they’ll be hunched up and only one person at a time, thus allowing our Saxon defenders more chance of fighting them off.”
Listening to Esmond instead of watching what he was doing, Eddie bashed his head on a stone lintel and grazed his forehead on the rough-hewn rock. It sent him dizzy for a moment and he felt blood seeping from the wound.
Esmond led Eddie up the tower and through rooms on each of five levels. “These rooms serve as living accommodation and storage for the tower’s garrison in siege conditions,” he told Eddie.
The pair eventually climbed the last section of the narrow, winding staircase to the roof. Eddie noted there were castellations and arrow slits to the front and sides. “Where did they get all the stone from to build these towers?”
“Most of the stone was taken from an earlier Roman fort that was here from nearly a thousand years ago,” Esmond replied. “Although there’s some limestone that’s been added more recently.”
Eddie could see for miles down the Blackwater Estuary to Northey Island in the east. In the west he saw the two harbours of Maldon and Heybridge. To the south he could make out an ox laboriously dragging a cart along the Chelmsford road. The north aspect looked across the estuary and the forest towards Colchester. This high viewpoint was also perfect for getting an overall idea of the layout inside the Burh’s earth ramparts.
“That’s true. The outside walls enclose twenty-two acres of land with forty inner-town buildings. As you can see, some of the bigger defensive structures are also made of stone.”
“This is like a complete town in here.”
“Yes, you’re right.” Esmond pointed out some of the main buildings to Eddie. “Those are the law courts, the customhouse and jail, and these three here are military barracks. That tall building is a fortified keep of six storeys, with the Royal Mint inside and the armoury attached. Over there in the centre you can see the Church and the market surrounded by those huge animal pens. The military barracks houses the huscarls, the professional soldiers, during peacetime. But there’s room for our entire army during a siege.”
A loud, cat-like mew caught Eddie’s attention, because it came from directly above them, in the air. As cats couldn’t fly, there had to be another explanation. He saw the culprit silhouetted against the bright sunlight. A two-foot long and magnificently regal buzzard was hovering near the wall. Then it stooped, falling like a stone, before re-emerging in a slow, flapping flight with a rat in its talons.
The two men descended from the tower and sat on a flattish piece of grass on the embankment. They were overlooking the imposing stone law courts and jail. Eddie noticed a gibbet outside the courts. It had a high platform and stout wooden gallows, with the hangman’s noose swinging ominously in the breeze.
There were also two sets of stocks, one of which was occupied by an old, dishevelled, sad-looking individual. As Eddie watched, two men walked past the unfortunate guy. They spat on him and then threw a few clods of earth at his head.
Esmond commented, “That’s old Wolf, the town drunk. He spends a lot of time in the stocks. But he doesn’t learn from it. When he’s let out he’ll be straight down the tavern again.”
“Do they hang people on that gibbet?
“Not very often. It’s only used for murderers, rapists and traitors. But it’s left there to remind everybody what their fate could be if they transgress our laws. There’s only been one execution this year. A professional thief, a cutpurse from London, nicknamed Spider. He was convicted of slitting the throat of a traveller for his silver on the highway from Chelmsford.”
Eddie’s face screwed up with revulsion.
“Ealdorman Byrhtnoth, who’s also our senior district judge, passed the death sentence.”
Eddie scratched his head. “Is there a permanent hangman?”
Esmond shook his head. “No. Ealdorman Byrhtnoth appoints a suitable person in each case. With Spider, the victim’s brother sprung the trap. Spider was dancing on the rope for over twenty minutes, turning purple from strangulation, his blackening tongue protruding obscenely before he finally expired. A big crowd watched him die, screaming insults and making rude gestures at him.”
Eddie shook his head.
“Ealdorman Byrhtnoth left Spider’s cadaver hanging there for two months as an example. It stank terribly. In fact, it was left there till the crows had pecked his eyes out and he’d started to rot.”
Eddie made a face. “That’s gross. Did you have a service for the man when his body was eventually cut down?”
“Not a service as such. Spider’s remains were disposed of only two weeks ago, in fact. He was thrown onto the midden, the human dung heap. That’s unconsecrated ground, obviously, so I merely said a short prayer for his soul. The usual punishment for more minor crimes is flogging, or the stocks.”
Interrupting the pair’s conversation, a pretty dark-haired young serving girl called Hannah arrived, with two cool beers for them. Esmond thanked her and she gave Eddie an appealing smile.
“There have been reports of ghosts around the gibbet, Eddie. Although of course, as a man of God, I don’t believe in that form of supernatural heresy.”
“Ghosts? Were they reports of witches? Or murderers like Spider?”
“You’d expect that, but it wasn’t so. These were Roman soldiers in full uniform, but…”
“But what?”
Esmond shrugged his shoulders. “The reports said the Roman soldiers’ apparitions were white-haired and pink-eyed with skin that was translucent, the light passed straight through them. You see what I mean? Unbelievable. The people who saw them probably had too much alcohol, don’t you think?”
Eddie couldn’t believe his ears. The white translucent description was too much of a coincidence. They must be Druids in a different disguise. But he replied, “You’re probably right, Esmond. Too much alcohol, I expect.”
Olaf Tryggvasson stood on the prow of his vast longship that led the ninety-three-ship fleet. The massive Viking was proud of his army’s achievements; he demanded nothing but complete victory. That was what he had this time.
Near the stern of Tryggvasson’s longship the Saxon teenager, Ella, was tied to the ship’s side. She was trying to come to terms with what had happened, grieving for her father and the people of Sandwich. Then she was taken to a double ring of standing stones on Mersea Island. Whilst there, a ghostly white-robed essence had surrounded her. Strangely, all the Vikings in the area had instantly disappeared. It was if she were in a different reality or time. After her initial panic she was calm and felt, rather than heard, a message. She was convinced she was being told she and her husband would survive, that she would meet her cousin once more. Then she was back to reality and her Viking captors. What did this all mean? She could only assume the ghostly monk was referring to Kate, Princess Catherine, as all her Sandwich based relatives had perished. Ella’s husband, Eldor Gadd, was aboard the same longship with her, but she had been unable to contact him. However, she now believed they would both live.
While the two men drank their beer, Eddie asked, “Esmond, can you tell me more about the recent history of England? Especially about Maldon?”
“Certainly. The first point you should know is that Maldon was originally called Maeldun, which means the cross on a hilltop. But somewhere along the line the spelling and pronunciation was changed.”
“It happens.”
“Until the beginning of the ninth century, England was split into several kingdoms.” Esmond told Eddie. “That was until the Vikings overran all but Wessex in the south. Immediately, the Danes extinguished all the other Saxon royal houses by slaughtering every relative of the royal lineages.”
Eddie shuddered. “My God, that sounds like it was a bloodthirsty time.”
Kate had called to see Ealdorman Byrhtnoth and informed him she was going to accompany Eddie to Maylandsea. She said, “I intend to thank Pastor John for his help and bravery when I was captured by the Vikings. I wish also to endow his church with my patronage, and silver, so that he can hire artisans to get his church and other buildings rebuilt as soon as possible.”
Byrhtnoth paled and puckered his brow. “But Princess, Vikings are around this coast. What if they send out a scouting party and you get kidnapped again? I won’t allow it!”
Kate widened her big blue eyes. “Why not? The Vikings will want their entire force for their attack on Colchester. In fact, I should be safer at the moment as they won’t be doing small raids on spec.”
“But for now at least you are my only surviving son’s fiancé and our monarch’s daughter. It’s far too dangerous.”
Kate pursed her lips and fluttered her long, dark eyelashes. She flashed him a sweet smile. “So that you’re not blamed, Byrhtnoth, I will write you an official royal waiver stating that I personally overruled your objections. The King knows how wilful I can be, so you won’t be blamed if anything goes wrong.”
Byrhtnoth sighed. “I give in, but I’ll send a detachment of huscarls to guard you.”
“That won’t be necessary. My personal bodyguard, Thegn Edward the Tall, is going to his new homestead, so I will order him to supply my girls and me with accommodation for a few days. He and his man, Ecceard, will be all the guard I need as Thegn Edward has already proved his valour. After all, if a large military detachment were to appear in what had been a sparsely populated area, it would surely be advertising that a person of importance was also there?”
Byrhtnoth looked unconvinced.
“However, if you could instruct a squad of huscarls to be available if there is trouble, I would be grateful.”
“Well, I…”
“That’s settled then, Ealdoman Byrhtnoth. I’ll order Thegn Edward the Tall to accompany me and arrange my protection.”
Byrhtnoth’s head was spinning as he watched Princess Catherine exit. ‘I am England’s top general,’ he told himself, ‘and I’ve been out-argued by a slip of a girl, even if she is a princess. Huh, I must be losing my grip.’
Outside, in the Burh’s confines, Esmond told Eddie “The ninth century was a bloody time. Apart from Wessex, the Danes ran the rest of England, imposing their Dane law. That was where Scandinavian laws, customs, culture and even to some extent, the Norse language prevailed.”
Eddie scratched the top of his head. “Was it only the men from Denmark that invaded?”
“Not as such. In England all Vikings are called Danes. In fact they came from many Scandinavian countries.”
“I follow you, Esmond. So the Vikings controlled nearly all of England?”
“Yes, for a few years, until they began quarrelling amongst themselves.”
“What effect did that have?”
Esmond held his head in his hands. “The Vikings became uncoordinated, so they failed to follow up and destroy the Cerdic royal house in Wessex. Because of this, Wessex became strong. Under the charismatic twenty-one year old King Alfred, they won battle after battle against the Norsemen. Alfred then built fortified Burhs to hold the land his forces had gained.”
Eddie bit into an apple he’d saved from breakfast, and then began choking on it.
When he had recovered, Esmond continued. “King Alfred raised standing armies for each Burh’s garrison. These alone represented an army of thirty thousand men, not including the military strength of the Saxon Navy.”
Eddie gasped. “A big force, then, Esmond?”
“Yes, it was. Later Alfred defeated the Viking King Guthrum at the battle of Eddington near Trowbridge in Wiltshire. Subsequently a treaty was signed at Wedmore. This secured Wessex as the predominant kingdom in England.”
“So King Alfred really was a powerful leader?”
“Very much so. In fact we now refer to him as King Alfred the Great.”
“That’s only fitting,” Eddie said with conviction.
“After King Alfred’s death, his son, King Edward and his daughter, Queen Aethelflaed, who ruled Mercia, continued his policy and the lands controlled by the Dane law were gradually brought back under Saxon rule.”
“Was Maldon Burh built by King Alfred then?”
“No, it wasn’t. In nine hundred and twelve, King Alfred’s son, Edward, camped at Maldon. He stayed here while his men built the earthworks and stockades at Witham, seven miles away to the North West. This was done to secure Saxon control of the Roman road between Colchester and London. Anyway, King Edward must have been impressed with Maldon, because he returned in nine hundred and sixteen and built this burh fortress. He also paid for the annual upkeep of a permanent garrison of nine hundred men, and one warship in the Estuary with a crew of sixty.”
“Later, also under King Edward in nine hundred and twenty, the Wessex men based here at Maldon Burh recaptured Colchester. However, the Danish army soon rallied and retook Colchester. Then, in retaliation, they besieged us here in the Maldon Burh, but more Saxons arrived and the Vikings were put to flight.”
Eddie scratched his head again; it was so much to take in. “Who was in charge here in those days?”
“It was the Duke, Ealdorman Byrhthelm of Essex, who is now in his eighties. He fought bravely at the side of King Edward and also his son, King Athelstan, against the Vikings. Ealdorman Byrhthelm’s son our own Ealdorman Byrhtnoth, also fought valiantly in the later battles. In fact, father and son both fought in the battle that defeated Eric Bloodaxe at York. Bloodaxe was the uncle of Olaf Tryggvasson that’s threatening us now.”
Eddie felt he’d sat too long in the sun so they moved to the shade of the law court.
Esmond continued. “Ealdorman Byrhtnoth learnt his battle tactics fighting in many conflicts. He also gained the promotions that have now made him the premier general in England.
“Thank you. That’s very enlightening, Can you tell me more about this Burh?” Eddie asked.
“Yes, certainly. As you can see, inside the Burh the earth-walled inner town is in a brilliant position on the west side of Maldon. It overlooks both the river and the main road to Chelmsford in the west.”
“The space within the Burh walls looks pretty big to me. Why is it so large?”
“It needs to be vast to house all of the town’s population, animals and supplies if we are liable to be attacked. There is enough storage space here to keep the defenders supplied if they’re besieged. Bringing in all available food into the Burh also severely restricts provisions for any invaders outside the walls.”
“I see the point,” Eddie commented.
“Also, the Burh serves as a regional administration and market centre during peaceful times. The ground within the vallum, by this I mean the earthworks, is about twenty-two acres and there’s a fine spring on the north side.”
“The Burh’s certainly been well planned. But as Maldon’s an important port, doesn’t having King Aethelred’s mint here make it vulnerable to attack?
“You are quite right, it does, because we do not have a resident garrison. It’s too expensive, you see. Now the Ealdorman calls up troops for the fyrds when we are threatened.”
“That sounds risky to me,” Eddie said. “What if the Vikings mount a surprise attack?”
“I agree, but bear in mind, between the two Ealdormen they have seven hundred huscarls, the permanent, highly trained professional warriors. That’s quite enough to repel small raiding parties. Especially as Byrhtnoth keeps lookouts stationed at Bradwell at the mouth of the river to light the warning beacons if longships enter the river. However these huscarls are sometimes called on by the King to accompany Ealdorman Byrhtnoth on expeditions to back up the monarch’s Royal Host. Unfortunately, the Vikings have started to attack us again. This time with new tactics, instead of small raiding parties of one or two longships, there are now great fleets. These sometimes number three hundred and fifty longships, holding ten thousand Vikings.”
“Wow! How can the Saxon Burhs prevent the Vikings overrunning them?”
“Sadly,” Esmond said, “the other town garrisons couldn’t. Only Colchester, Witham and Maldon Burhs now remain intact in Essex.”
Eddie held out his hands palms up, as if appealing to the heavens.
“I pray that Colchester has managed to muster a strong garrison, or I fear for them,” Esmond commented. “Then it’s likely to be Maldon’s turn.”
“Will Maldon be able to defend itself against such an armada?”
“If God is willing, yes. As you know, the Ealdorman has been calling in as many of the fyrd as he can. Also, he’s begun weapons training in earnest. It is suspected that the Viking invader may come here. Prince Olaf Tryggvasson, as well as being Eric Bloodaxe’s nephew, is also the grandson of King Harald Fairhair. He was one of Norway’s greatest kings, the first to unite his country.”
“I’ve met Tryggvasson he’s a monster, it was a miracle I survived the encounter. He has an awesome warrior pedigree. Where do the extra Saxon fighting men needed to defend against him, come from?”
“Well, our Saxon fighting forces consist of three types. The National host led by the King; then the Ealdormen-led shire forces, the huscarls, and lastly there are the war bands led by individual Thegns. Unfortunately mobile raiding forces can devastate a region before the King’s host can arrive and engage them in battle. Thus there are times when the local Ealdorman cannot wait for the National host. That is so in this case. Ealdorman Byrhtnoth will have to call on help from as many Thegns as he can.”
“Does the Ealdorman expect every man to fight if we’re attacked?”
“Not normally. There are three types of free peoples in this society: Beadsmen like me, who pray. Warriors like the huscarls, who only fight for a living. Then last but not least, all the other men available in this area such as the farmers and the tradesmen. Each is a necessarily distinct class. That doesn’t include the slaves who do the bidding of their masters.”
“Are the slaves forced to fight?”
“No, they aren’t, nor are any men who aren’t willing. They couldn’t be relied on and may even kill their masters in extreme cases. The select fyrd, who do nearly all the fighting, are composed of nobles and their lesser-born warrior followers, the huscarls. This is because ordinary Ceorls are not able to afford the expensive horses and weapons required for select fyrd service. This works out fine if the attackers are few. But if the invaders are many, the Great Fyrd is summoned.”
“What constitutes the Great Fyrd, Esmond?
“That’s every able-bodied man fighting with whatever weapons he has. Wood axes, pitchforks, stout staves or even slingshots.”
The weather had changed. Black clouds now masked the sun with swirling, cumulonimbus storm clouds massing on the horizon. Eddie thought this storm was appropriate to everybody’s darker mood after Aefnoth’s news about the attack on Colchester.
“Esmond, why do all the buildings inside the Burh have wooden slat roofs?”
“That’s because they are less susceptible than the normal thatch to being burnt by fire arrows.”
Eddie nodded. “I should have guessed that.”
Esmond took Eddie to the north side of the Burh to see the small spring where water bubbled up into a sump pond. He said, “This was the main reason the Romans, and later, we Saxons, picked this spot. You see, the water source is unending and secure, so enemy saboteurs from outside the walls cannot poison it. I’ll get you a sample.”
While the Prior was away, Eldor Godric and his brothers appeared, Eddie was shocked as the last thing he heard all three had been languishing in the Burh’s dungeons, where Eldor Aefnoth had sent them after an earlier attack.
Eddie remembered Prior Esmond had explained Byrthnoth’s father Ealdorman Byrhthelm had promoted Odda, Godric’s father to the hereditary title of Eldor.
This had been after Odda had saved both Ealdormen’s lives by his exceptional bravery. In a later battle Odda was mortally wounded while again defending the two Ealdormen. As Odda lay dying, both Godrichelm and Byrhtnoth had taken oaths to always protect Odda’s three sons. That was how Odda’s eldest son Godric had inherited his father’s title of Eldor. Prior Esmond had also explained that to Saxons, a sworn oath’s obligation must be carried out until the last breath of the Swearer. Unfortunately the three brothers, realizing they could never be punished, took full advantage.
Godric noticed Eddie was alone and unarmed. Seeing them, Eddie regretted not bringing any weapons but hadn’t thought it necessary or appropriate as he was with a man of God and not going outside the Burh.
Godric laughed derisorily and then grabbed the lapels of Eddie’s leather jerkin with both hands and forced his face within inches of Eddie’s. This wasn’t pleasant for Eddie as Godric’s mouth was full of black rotting teeth and his breath carried overwhelming odours of decay and alcohol. Godric’s skin condition was disgusting to see at close range, with red rashes and several of his dozens of spots oozing yellow pus. The pus smelt rotten, as if his whole face was going putrid.
Godric spat vile-smelling green spittle in Eddie’s face. “So, you useless spy,” he snarled, “you thought you would have me committed to the dungeons did you? You just do not realize my highborn status as an Eldor. Whereas you’re worse than a nobody; you’re just a lowborn gypsy slave who should by rights be serving me or dying at my very whim. Well, you’ve no warriors to protect you now. So this time I’ll have my revenge.”
With that he swung his fist at Eddie’s face. But to do so, he let go of the jerkin, allowing Eddie to sideslip him. Godric’s roundhouse swing continued, leaving him off balance. Eddie kicked his legs from under him and he fell heavily. Hand-to-hand fighting was no problem to Eddie, as from his earliest days he’d learnt the Romani art of Koripen. This Romani form of street fighting had given him lightning reflexes.
Godric, enraged, got up and came at Eddie with hands open, trying to grab his neck. Eddie noted that Godric had red rashes on his hands and was losing his hair in clumps. He also noticed white patches on the ugly man’s tongue. He guessed Godric’s condition was syphilis, and shuddered. This freak had just spat in his face. Eddie wiped his mouth with his sleeve. His instinct was to rush away and wash, but he was trapped.
As Godric closed on him, Eddie kicked the Eldor in the crotch. Godric went down again, screaming. While he clutched his groin, Eddie punched him on the bridge of his nose. The cracking noise told Eddie that Godric’s nose had broken. Blood shot everywhere and Eddie moved back in case this was another source of infection.
Godric gasped, then shouted to his brothers. “Kill the bastard; he’s attacked his superior. That’s treason, a capital offence.”
The two younger brothers drew their swords and came towards Eddie.
Prior Esmond returned and shouted, “Godwin! Godwig! I’ve seen what’s gone on. Don’t use your weapons to attack an unarmed man. If you do, I’ll report it to the Ealdorman and you’ll be the ones on the gibbet.”
The brothers hesitated, so Godric bellowed, “Kill him… and the priest as well!”
While the brothers were confused, Eddie took his opportunity. He grabbed Godwig’s arm and put it in an arm lock. Then he propelled him into Godwin. The brother’s skulls made a dull thud as their heads collided. Both went down and to Eddie’s astonishment, Godwig started to cry. Even Godwin looked surprised, so Eddie elbowed him in the teeth as he hesitated. The Romani’s luck couldn’t last and after dropping back, all three advanced on him with their swords drawn.
Prior Esmond stood in front of Eddie protectively, with his arms akimbo, telling the brothers, “Don’t be foolish. You are being watched by a lot of people. Now just calm down, peace, you guys.”
The Prior’s words had little effect. The brothers still came forward menacingly. Eddie realized he was the siblings’ target and they were disinterested in the Prior, so he whispered to Esmond, “I’ll try to divert their attention while you go for help. Eddie then lurched to the left as if to outflank the trio. This first part of the plan worked, as the brothers followed his move, allowing Esmond to slip away towards the armoury.
But this time the brother’s onslaught could succeed, as Eddie only had his martial arts training against three swordsmen. Now he’d been forced back against the stone prison buildings, so he had no escape route. He was trapped by three belligerent, armed men determined to kill him.
Three
Crows hopped around, feeding on worms that had risen to the surface of the damp grass. Gulls flew in circles, while others perched on the roofs of the Essex Burh’s buildings, screeching their long repetitive entreaties to the world at large.
Below the shrieking gulls, Eddie was being forced back against the stone prison’s wall by Eldor Godric and his brothers. His breath came in short gasps and his stomach knotted. Sweat ran down his forehead and the small of his back. His throat constricted so that he was unable to speak. He pursed his lips and his brows knitted together.
The advancing Godric interpreted Eddie’s demeanour as a sign of weakness. The Eldor’s red, spotty face contorted into a derisive sneer. Eddie desperately looked around for anything he could use to fight off his assailants, or at least to buy him time. He saw a few small rocks piled against the prison wall and grabbed them. The rough stones felt too light to drive the armed marauders off, but he had to try something.
Eddie hurled several of these missiles at his attackers, scoring minor hits. But when he was down to the last two stones, he was perplexed. If he threw them, he’d have nothing. He pretended to launch his final stones. The brothers were wary, but seeing Eddie had few rocks left, they closed him down again. He had no option, so threw his last two stones, hitting the brothers, but with little effect.
Sensing victory over the unarmed Romani, Godric hollered to his siblings, “We’ve got the bastard! Now finish him.”
Thankfully for Eddie, as they moved in for the kill, Prior Esmond returned with help.
Aefnoth shouted at the brothers, “Stop this madness immediately! We’ve few enough warriors for our defence as it is.”
The warning and the fact that Aefnoth had a detachment of armed huscarls with him stopped the brothers in their tracks. Then, mouthing curses, they sloped away towards the Burh’s gates.
Eddie dropped to his knees. “Thanks, guys.”
Aefnoth nodded. “They’re wasters, but as you know, my father the Ealdorman has vowed to protect them. Mind you, when he made that vow, he had no inkling that all three would become such degenerates.”
Eddie understood the Ealdorman’s dilemma, but he was concerned about the brothers’ persistent personal hostilities towards him. He had absolute contempt for them. But twice, it had been only intervention by others that had prevented them from killing him. They only had to get lucky once and he’d be dead.