TREASONS, STRATAGEMS AND SPOILS Page 17

  ~~~

  Although the land was flat and devoid of undulations deep enough to hide our approach, there was a small wood about a quarter of a mile to the south-east of the stronghold. By dawn I was studying the place for myself, having been dropped off on the beach that Anarawd and Bavo had used the previous day. They had come with me, as had Octa and two more of my warband. Although I was now less suspicious of Bavo, I wasn’t about to risk being betrayed.

  I calculated that it would take fully armed men between eight and ten minutes to reach the main gates from here. It was a long time to expect a small infiltration party to keep the gates open once the garrison had been alerted.

  I sucked my teeth in frustration. Suddenly the gates swung open and a group of ten horsemen rode out and headed down towards the port. Eight of them were heavy cavalry such as I’d seen in Paris. They were different to the mounted warriors in England in that they sat on bigger saddles with something the Franks called étriers hanging from leather straps attached to the saddle. This gave them a much more secure seat from which to fight on horseback than our horsemen had, whose legs hung free. It was an idea I intended to copy when, or perhaps if, I ever returned to Northumbria.

  Rather than chain mail, they wore padded linen jerkins to which overlapping metal plates had been sewn. A leather under-helmet protected their ears and neck, over which they wore a round metal helmet shaped like a pot. They carried a small round shield and a spear intended for stabbing rather than throwing. A long sword hung from a baldric over the right shoulder and they all wore a dagger on a belt around their waist.

  Their trousers were tied around the calf with leather ribbons and they had spurs attached to their shoes, another idea I intended to copy. Unlike King Charles’ heavy cavalry, who all wore blue tunics under their armoured jerkins, Carloman’s horsemen wore any colour other than blue. Otherwise they looked identical to them.

  The man who led them was dressed in yellow trousers and a thick green tunic trimmed at cuff, neck and hem with rabbit fur. Over this he wore a red cloak. Beside him rode a more sombrely dressed youth carrying a banner. It was swallow tailed with red roses on a green background, which I knew was Carloman’s personal standard. Another idea began to form in my mind.

  ‘Walk down to the port and see if you can find out the reason for Carloman’s visits and how often he makes them,’ I told Anarawd and Bavo.

  They nodded and made their way through the woods so that they would emerge unseen by the sentries in the two watchtowers.

  I waited impatiently for their return but it was late afternoon before they reappeared.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘He went into the church, lord, or at least we arrived in time to see him come out again,’ Anarawd replied.

  ‘We found out that he visits the church twice a week, once to see the priest and once for the service on Sunday,’ Bavo added.

  From what they had said I was fairly certain that Carloman went to make confession of his sins on the Saturday in order to purify himself for mass on the following day. All I had to do, therefore, was to attack him on his way to mass tomorrow.

  ‘Did you find out when mass is said on a Sunday?’

  ‘Just after dawn and again when the sun is at its zenith,’ Bavo told me.

  ‘I doubted that Carloman would want to attend the first service; the midday one seemed much more likely and I made my plans accordingly.

  ~~~

  As we marched into the port the streets suddenly emptied as the inhabitants ran for the safety of their homes. This time Carloman had brought an escort of twenty men all of whom, except four who had been left outside to look after the horses, had entered the church for the service.

  Those guarding the horses had sat down to play a game of dice and didn’t notice my men until a dozen of them surrounded them. They made short work of cutting their throats. Octa took a hundred warriors and surrounded the church while Cerdic secured the side door with another twenty. I then led the remainder in through the main entrance.

  Without a word my men rapidly lined the inside walls of the church and faced inwards whilst I strode up the aisle with ten men, pushing the worshippers out of my way as I went. When I reached the open-mouthed priest standing beside the altar I turned and surveyed the congregation.

  Carloman stood with his hand on his sword in the front row with half a dozen of his men. The rest stood behind him. Like their king, they were uncertain what to do in the face of overwhelming force. I nodded at Bavo, who recited the little speech I’d made him learn.

  ‘The first man to draw a sword dies,’ he told them. ‘We have no wish to defile the interior of a church with blood. You are heavily outnumbered; quite apart from the warriors you can see there are another one hundred and thirty outside.’

  ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ spluttered Carloman. ‘This is sacrilege! You are in the presence of your king, drop your weapons now.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t answer to you, Carloman,’ I told him in Latin. ‘You will accompany me outside. If you do so and your men remain where they are, no one need get hurt.’

  He glared at me and barked out an order. I didn’t speak Frisian but the meaning was obvious. His men immediately drew their swords and gathered around their master. This provoked panic amongst the rest of the congregation and they made a rush for the two doors. Of course, when they got there they found their exit blocked by more armed men and the women started screaming, believing they and their children were about to be killed.

  However, this left the score of men around their king isolated. I didn’t believe in wasting my warriors’ lives and so I signalled to the dozen archers I’d brought in with me. After the first four had been hit the rest of Carlomen’s bodyguard charged forward. The church was small and only a few yards separated the two sides. The archers dropped their bows and drew their swords whilst the rest of my men lowered their spears. The fight was fierce but short. Unfortunately, I lost some of my warband – mostly the young, hot-headed, newer members - but within ten minutes the last of the Frisian soldiers lay dead or wounded, including their king.

  The priest had hidden behind the altar during the fight and now cautiously peered over it to see if it was all over.

  ‘I regret the defilement of your church, father,’ I told him in Latin and handed him a purse of silver. ‘This is to pay for the clean-up and re-consecration.’

  When I turned back to my men I saw Bavo kneeling beside the dead king sawing off his head with his dagger. I learned later that Charles had offered to pay him a hundred sous, equivalent to five pounds of silver, if he brought the head back.

  As I made my way towards the door one of the men Charles had loaned me came running in babbling away in Franconian.

  ‘Now you will pay for your crimes, Englishman,’ the priest told me with relish. ‘King Carloman was gathering an army to launch a reprisal raid into Saxony. The first five hundred have arrived at the fortress and are hastening here to deal with you.’

  Evidently one of the inhabitants of the place had run to the fortress when we appeared. I had no intention of facing so many men in battle and I had to think quickly how I might escape the rapidly closing net.

  I thought of trying to convince them to swear allegiance to King Charles now that his brother was dead, but quickly dismissed the idea. He had been adamant that this was to appear like a raid by Northumbrians or Mercians. If I tried to involve him he’d only deny it and I’d probably lose my head as the leader of the raid just to prove his innocence.

  There was only one thing to do and that was to make a run for it. However, if we attempted to reach our own fleet beached in the bay five miles away we’d be seen and cut off before we got there. On the other hand there were a few knarrs and other boats in the harbour, so that’s where we headed.

  We piled aboard the various craft and pressed the surprised sailors on board to cast off and get us under way. Unfortunately, there wasn’t room for all two hundred of us and with alarm I saw that
Octa was one of those still standing helplessly on the jetty.

  ‘Make for the fishing boats on the beach over there,’ I yelled across at him, pointing to where they lay on the sand.

  ‘He nodded and led his thirty men along the coast towards the boats. Just at that moment the first of the Frisian army entered the port and tried to cut my son and his group off. As I watched helplessly Octa led half a dozen towards the small group of the enemy as they emerged beside a warehouse. The rest of his men ran towards the fishing boats and started to haul them down the beach into the sea as my son battled increasing numbers of the enemy.

  I couldn’t stand by and watch him die so I ordered the helmsmen of the knarr I was on to head back to the jetty. I and the sixty men on the knarr piled ashore but I had the presence of mind to leave four men behind to stop the sailors taking the knarr out to sea and safety.

  By the time that I reached him Octa had lost his helmet and had a flesh wound on his head as well as cuts to his thigh and right biceps. I told Anarawd to get his former master back on board the knarr and then waded into the fight.

  There were some thirty of the enemy fighting the last of Octa’s men but our arrival forced them back into the narrow streets, leaving several dead and wounded behind them. A few of my men carried the dead and helped the wounded back to the knarr whilst we held the growing numbers of our foes back.

  I raised my shield to ward off an axe blow and stabbed its owner in the stomach.

  ‘Get a few archers ready on the jetty,’ I panted to Cerdic, who was fighting at my side.

  He nodded and slipped away, to be replaced by the man behind him. I raised my sword to parry a thrust by another Frisian then smashed him in the face with the boss of my shield. His nose burst like an overripe tomato and he yelped in pain. For a moment he was unable to see so I thrust the point of my sword into his neck.

  ‘All ready,’ Cedric panted as he re-joined me.

  It was the last thing he ever said. A Frisian thrust his spear at him and he was too slow in deflecting it with his shield. The point aimed at his chest ended up in his eye instead. He fell without a sound and for a moment I stood there stunned. So much for the comfortable retirement I had planned for him. In a rage I slashed my sword at his killer, cutting through the haft of the spear, and tearing a long gaping wound through his leather jerkin and on into his belly. His grey, slimy intestines spilled out like worms and he fell to his knees. I lopped off his head and called on my men to push the enemy back.

  We launched one last frenzied attack, driving the Frisians back, and then turned and ran, leaving our dead where they’d fallen. I bitterly regretted it but there was no possibility of taking them back with us. As it was it was a mad dash with the enemy right behind us. Suddenly the front row toppled to the ground as we ran past the archers and scrambled over the gunwale and onto the knarr’s deck.

  Two volleys of arrows had halted the Frisians for an instant but more and more of them were spilling onto the jetty now. After firing one more arrow each the archers made for the knarr. Someone – I later learned it was Anarawd – had had the presence of mind to have a few more archers ready at the knarr’s side. As the other archers climbed aboard they sent a few more arrows into the leading pursuers, which made those behind them pause for a moment.

  Seeing us getting away, the Frisians made one last rush to get at us but the ropes fore and aft had been cut with axes and the seamen were pushing us away from the jetty with the oars by the time that the front rank got there. Such was the pressure of the men behind them that the first score or so were unable to stop and were pushed into the sea. Those weighed down by a mail byrnie or steel plates sewn to a padded jerkin sunk like stones. Most of the others couldn’t swim and splashed around until they too sunk beneath the water. A few managed to cling to the jetty supports until someone lowered a rope to haul them up.

  One managed to swim to the side of our ship and we hauled him aboard. He looked to be about fourteen or fifteen at most. I was conscious of the fact that, with Cerdic dead Octa would become my captain and he would need a body servant instead of sharing the group of boys and men who served the warband in general. But I dismissed the thought as soon as it came to me. We were supposedly raiders from England so we could hardly take a Frisian captive back to Paris.

  My next thought was to cut his throat and throw him over the side but there had been enough killing for one day. I left him whilst I thought about what to do with him and went to check on Octa. I found Anarawd bandaging his head, having sewn up his other cuts with catgut.

  ‘How are you?’ I asked as I knelt beside the sailor.

  ‘I’ll live,’ he grinned, then grimaced as Anarawd tied off the bandage. ‘I’m sorry about Cerdic though. How many others did we lose?’

  ‘About twenty I think. I haven’t had a chance to do a count yet.’

  That was something that Cerdic would normally have done.

  ‘Had Cerdic lived he would have retired after we returned to Paris, so I’ve been thinking about a new captain in any case.’

  ‘Who’s in the running? Stigand is a good warrior and the men like him.’

  ‘No, I think you’re ready for the responsibility.’

  ‘Me?’

  My son obviously hadn’t expected me to even consider him. It was true that he was only nineteen but he was my heir and the men respected him.

  ‘Don’t you want it?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Thank you father; I won’t let you down.’

  ‘I know you won’t. You haven’t done so yet and I don’t suppose that you’re about to start. The only problem is Uuffa. I thought about what you said earlier and I intend to make him the captain of one of the birlinns, once he has learned enough seamanship and got some experience.’

  ‘Hmm, it might be sufficient to satisfy him but it will take him a long time to become a sailor, then a helmsman, before learning all that a captain needs to know.’

  ‘You don’t think he has the patience?’

  ‘I don’t think he has enough patience,’ he replied, with the emphasis on the enough. ‘My brother is a doer, not a thinker. He likes to achieve things.’

  ‘That’s true, I suppose.’

  Like most parents I tended to be blind to my children’s faults.

  ‘If you’re looking for a new captain you probably couldn’t do better than Anarawd,’ he went on.

  I looked at Octa in a new light. I already had a high opinion of his qualities but now I realised that he was a shrewd judge of character as well. I nodded. It was a sensible suggestion, but it didn’t solve the problem of giving Uuffa a fulfilling role. For the moment I put the problem to the back of my mind. I’d only completed half of the mission that King Charles had given me.

  We left the ships and fishing boats we didn’t need stranded on the beach on the north coast of the island offshore and divided the fleet into two. I put Stigand in charge of the ships returning to Paris, with Bavo and Carloman’s head sewn in an oiled leather cloth with pungent herbs to hide the inevitable smell. The basket in which it was placed was put in the bilge to keep it cool. I just hoped that it would still be recognisable when Bavo presented it to the king.

  The Franks that Charles had loaned me returned to Paris as well, leaving me with ninety men in three birlinns to continue onto Saxony. If the Saxons had been raiding Frisia recently I wondered what sort of a reception I was going to receive there.

  Chapter Ten – Saxony

  761 – 762

  I was sailing blind, not knowing where the sandbanks were, so I breathed a sigh of relief when the low-lying sandy islands of Frisia receded into the distance. After two miles in which the man dropping the weighted line over the bows found no bottom, I decided we now had deep water under our keel. We stopped rowing and hoisted the sail.

  The wind was from the north-east so it was hard work tacking to and fro, covering five miles for every mile we made in the direction of travel, but I didn’t want to exhaust the men by making them row. T
hey needed to be fresh in case we sighted a hostile sail.

  I was confident of being able to outrun any Saxon warships we encountered. From what I’d seen of the typical ships the Saxons of Wessex used they were smaller and weren’t as heavily built as my ships. They may have carried our ancestors over the sea to England, or Britannia as it was then, but they suffered in comparison with my warships, which were based on those used by the islemen of Dalriada.

  Ours might be heavier but, because they were longer and could take the strain of a taller mast and a bigger mainsail, birlinns were faster than the Saxon ships; at least I hoped so.

  My other problem was our destination. King Charles’ advisers had told me that my best option was to head for Geestendorf, the port of Bremen, a little way down the River Weser from its mouth. I’d been given all the other information that the Franks had gleaned about Saxony, which wasn’t very much.

  Saxony consisted of a broad plain, except in the south where there were some low mountains. The inhabitants were pagans who worshiped a divine tree that connected Heaven and Earth. Eighty years previously two monks called Ewald the Black and Ewald the Fair set out from Northumbria to convert them to Christianity. However, they received a hostile reception and the missionaries were tortured and torn limb from limb. Afterwards the two bodies were cast into the River Rhine.

  Their reluctance to accept Christianity and their tendency to raid their neighbours had brought them into direct conflict with King Charles. Our mission to discover the present state of affairs was, I was to discover later, a necessary reconnaissance prior to his long war of conquest and eventual subjugation of the Saxons.

  Despite the fate of the unfortunate pair of monks called Ewald, I was told that my nemesis, Alchred of Northumbria, had sent another mission under a priest from Eoforwīc called Willihad to convert the Saxons. He had landed at Geestendorf and had established a church at Bremen. When I set out to find him I didn’t know whether he was still alive or had suffered the fate of the two Ewalds.