TLV - 03 - The Sign of the Raven (28 page)

"Enough to have you drink it, my lord," said Gunnar. "When I am a great chief, the sign on my banner'll be a crock."

They heard Harold Godwinsson egg his men on to a fresh attack. He himself led it, ax raised and flag swaying overhead.

Again fury burst on Harald's shield. He struck at the man before him, a burly red man who had a cast in his eye. Never had they seen each other till this day, but now death whipped between them. Ax and sword, strike forward and hold fast, put down that foe and here comes the next!

The press drove the Norsemen back, tightening their ring, but so many of them fell that they were not more crowded. Thjodholf had a moment's freedom in which to cry out, and it was the Bjarkamaal he shouted:

"The sun is rising,

the cock's feathers rustle,

'tis time for thralls

to tread into work.
..."

Harald remembered the dawn of Stiklastadh, and joined his folk in roaring it forth.

"Waken, warriors, wake ye up. . . ."

Then the attack was on them again so fiercely they had not breath to spare.

That onslaught was also blunted and beaten back. By then the corpses made a wall, four feet of reddened flesh where Norway's dead guarded the living. Harald wiped his streaming face and left a smear of blood. Would Eystein never come?

He looked behind him. Nigh all the host was across the river. It would be ticklish getting the rest over, if the English attacked meanwhile; and somehow the bridge must be held till he could form ranks on the other side. Well . . .

"Give the word and don't garble it," he said hoarsely to those beside him. "Let the ring pull back into a circle touching the bridge, and then let the men at its ends go across, one by one, and tighten the line as they do."

Plain yeomen could not have carried it out; but these were the royal guards, the bloom of the North.

Trumpets blared in the English array, and again it rolled down with spears like lightning through the dust. Harald's blade screamed. He struck the nearest Housecarle to earth ere the man could raise ax. Now . . . back a step. . . . Hold firm . . . back another step. Stamford Bridge resounded under feet.

For many crazed minutes they fought. Then the last few Norse stood before the bridge, their king among them, and hewed so mightily that the foe reeled away.

"Get over!" cried Harald. "Who can hold the bridge awhile?"

"I, my lord." Gunnar Geiroddsson stood forth. Blood dripped from his byrnie and clotted his shock of bright hair, but little of it seemed his own; his byrnie was beaten to rags, but he held his ax unwaveringly.

Harald gazed a moment at him. "You and I are the only men who could do that," he said. Gunnar's eyes glowed. "Withdraw when I sound the horn twice and run to the ranks. But it will take us a small time to ready, and the longer you can ward us the better rested we'll be."

Gunnar nodded, grinned, and planted his feet near the English end of the bridge. Harald ran after his men.

"Well, come you," taunted Gunnar. "Come hither and be split into kindling."

A Housecarle rushed forward. His ax blazed high, but Gunnar smote sideways and took off his head. "There's one!" he bellowed.

Two more lunged at him. Gunnar kicked at the right-hand fellow, who lurched and pushed his comrade into the river to drown beneath weight of mail while Gunnar killed him. "Three!" shouted the defender.

A couple of arrows ripped toward him, but they missed and the rest seemed to have been used up. Four troopers lumbered against him in single file. Gunnar's ax smashed helm and head of the first, took a leg off the second, caved in the breast of the third, and knocked the fourth into the Derwent. "Seven!" he jeered.

A spear whistled toward him and missed. Another he struck down in midflight, and a third bounced off his tattered ringmail. He cupped hands to his mouth and cried aloud: "Come on, you milk-livered toothless whelps, come if you dare! Small wonder I found your wives an easy prey. Thor hammer me if I beget not a race o' men in this island!"

The Housecarles howled and went against him. His ax rose and fell, slashed, chopped, hewed, and thundered. The Norse across the river began counting with him, calling it out together: "Ten! Eleven! Twelve! Thirteen! Fourteen! Fifteen!"

"Jesu Kristi," said Harald, "if he holds that bridge long enough, help will come to us." As two more English sped to meet the Norseman, the king shouted: "Gunnar, you shall have my daughter Ingigerdh to wife, and the greatest fief in Norway."

Gunnar struck down the two men in as many blows and ran to slay the next.

The dead were heaped before him, nigh two score had been counted. He waved his ax and made rude remarks. Two more attacked. He cut the first down, and his ax haft broke against the second. At once his fist jumped forth; men heard neckbones snap. He picked up a Housecarle weapon in either hand. "Small are these toys," he cried, "but good enough for the likes o' you."

The English drew back. Danes among them remembered Asa Thor and fear struck them. Harold Godwinsson stepped forth. "Will you take peace and lands from me?" he asked.

Gunnar boomed out laughter. "I might take your wife for a whore when I've trimmed you down, lad," he bawled.

Harald Hardrede loomed in his line, watching. "There stands the old North," he said to Thjodholf. "This day decides if it is to live or not."

Suddenly he yelled and cursed. Another Housecarle, a giant of a man, was trading blows with Gunnar; but the English king had spoken to a spearman who ran and slid down the riverbank and crawled along the piers.

"Gunnar!" shouted Harald. "He comes beneath you! Run!" He blew his horn twice, cursing himself that he had not done it before.

The defender heard him not. The clang of steel was too loud. He struck down his foe, but at that moment the spear thrust up between the planks.

"Thor help us!" groaned Gunnar. He sank to his knees, pawing at the shaft which bit through him. Harold Godwinsson winded the trumpet, and the Housecarles streamed across the bridge. The first of them slew Gunnar Geiroddsson and the rest passed over his body.

4

Harald Hardrede had drawn up his ranks in a circle. He himself looked toward the river. There was naught else he could do; so many had fallen that the enemy could flank a line. He felt tired, his bruises throbbed and his cuts stung; a heaviness filled his head.

The English drew into a long row. Harold Godwinsson gave his orders, and they began to throw spears and stones as they went around and around the circle. Such fire was deadly against unarmored men. The Norse crouched behind their shields but the points sought them out. Hallvardh Flatnose fell there, and Arinbjorn Erlendsson whose brother Vigleik lay dead across the river, and Gyrdh, and many more.

A spear plunged toward Harald. He knocked it away and said: "These English know how to fight."

"And we must stand here and suffer it?" shrieked Styrkaar.

"Aye," said Harald.

The rain went on. The Norse cast some spears and hammers, but to small good. Now Harald saw a number of men go back across the bridge and gather arrows.

"If Eystein comes not soon, we are done," he said. He looked to the sun, which was slipping west though the air remained hot. He tried to think of a scheme, but his mind seemed rusty. Visions flashed unbidden through it: a ship on a cold winter sea, the towers of Miklagardh, a time he had held little Maria high above Ellisif. That was in Denmark, when his hopes still lay before him.

King Harold's trumpet blew, a frost-cold note that sent the crows cawing off the dead. The English wheeled about and rushed down on the Norsemen.

Harald struck out at the nearest. His sword bit an arm, but not cleanly through; it was blunted from use. The Englander screamed and tried to swing his ax. Harald pierced him under the mailcoat. "That for Gunnar!" he shouted, and yanked the sword free and smote at the next.

This was a big man. His blade met Harald's in a yell and a rain of sparks. The king felt his grasp almost torn loose. He cau
ght the hilt again and sent the
brand down in a red blur. The Englishman's sword spun away. Harald snarled and slew him. Another came leaping over the corpse. Harald took the ax blow on his shield and felt it smash; his own weapon snaked out, sheared through defense and neck.

A triumphant bellow lifted to his rear. Turning, Harald saw an English standard across the circle, some earl's against Gudhrodh's. It went staggering back, and the Icelander whooped and rushed after it with his men.

"You fool!" screa
med Harald. "That's a
feint….
"

He whirled about to meet the Housecarle who threatened him. They battled for minutes, the ax striking helm and shoulder and remnants of shield, the sword raging around. Harald crashed through the man's guard and gave him a mortal wound, he fell and the king threw his useless shield atop him.

And meanwhile Gudhrodh and the nearby men had been drawn out. The English assailed them from all sides and they died.

"St. Olaf!" shouted Harald. "Close the ring! Stand fast!" It was Tosti who drew the line back together. And then the storm broke over them, and they met it and hurled it back.

Harald leaned gasping on his sword. "If we've done naught else," he said to Thjodholf, "we'll be remembered for this day."

"Aye," said the skald. "It may be God does not like men who strive for too much."

"Odhinn did," said Harald. "I was born either too late or too soon."

The English had been thrown into confusion by the fury which met them. They milled about some distance off, regathering their ranks. The ground between was thick with dead and wounded.

But now men sped back across the bridge bearing armloads of arrows. "This will finish us," growled Styrkaar.

"Well," said Harald with a lopsided smile, "we've finished so many in our day that it may be no more than just." He looked westward, but found no sign of help.

"Let them think they can shoot us at will," he said, "but rush at them when I blow my horn." He bent his head. The gilt was gone off his helmet, his sword was nicked and his knees felt strangely weak. "Ellisif," he murmured, "I should have hearkened."

The English lines formed anew. Behind the spearmen and the axmen, the archers were taking arrows. Harald straightened himself. This was the moment of victory. He set the horn to his lips and blew.

"Olaf with us!

God send the right!

Thor help his folk!"

The Norse line swung about, formed a wedge, and charged behind the raven flag.

As Harald ran forward, he felt weariness and despair drop from him. Almost, he was young again, high-hearted, bound forth to take the world. The long blade sang in his hand.

They shocked against the English and the clamor rose to heaven. Ax and sword! Spear and hammer! Drive them into the sea!

Harald's steel whirred. A Housecarle toppled before him, he sent the mortally hurt man staggering into another, he leaped above them both as they fell and clove a third in the jaws. Two men rushed at him, one from either side. He cut down the left, whirled, met the right and split his shield. Thjodholf darted to help him. Back to back they returned into their ranks.

Hew, sword, hew!

Drunk with battle, Harald hardly saw the men he killed. There seemed to be wings beating over him. His blade rose and fell, smashing down whatever stood before it. A Housecarle chopped at him, he caught the ax on his sword and drove it back and sank edge into bone. Their line was before him; he sent down three who stood side by side and sprang into their ranks. Fridhrek came after, holding the banner aloft. It was Edwin's standard which faced them, it wavered and Harald came up to the shield wall before it and the English retreated.

The king's blows belled, and as they fell he began to chant aloud. It was the Krakamaal, the death song of Ragnar Hairybreeks and all the old bold North.

"Swords we were a-swinging!

Sooth, was I a young one

when east in sound of Ore,

all the wolves got booty;

and the yellow-footed fowl

had much to feed on,

where 'gainst high-nailed

helmets hardened swords were singing;

wet with blood, the war birds

waded through the slaughter."