The Battle of Carham Read online

  Uuen didn’t but he was scared of Sigurd so he nodded. During his time as a thrall he had learned to speak Norse more or less fluently, but with a slight accent. The jarl didn’t think it mattered because the man he was trying to fool wouldn’t know any different. The man’s Norse was a lot worse than the boy’s.

  Apart from the time when he’d been brought to Thurso as a captive, tied up in the bilges of a longship, Uuen had never spent any time at sea. This time it was quite different. He was allowed to go where he wanted on the ship, provided he didn’t get in the way. He enjoyed looking at the passing scenery a couple of miles away as they sailed down the coast and he relished the movement of the longship as it powered through the waves. The chafe marks left by the iron collar had healed and now only a few red marks betrayed the fact that he was a thrall.

  The next morning Sigurd’s longship, together with the rest of the fleet, sailed into a shallow bay and they beached the ships. Uuen couldn’t see any signs of habitation but the jarl and his men headed inland, leaving the shipmaster and three ship’s boys to guard him. They went and sat on the beach with the boys from the other longships, talking and laughing together, whilst the ship masters sat separately playing some gambling game. One of the men yelled across at the boys and three reluctantly left the group and walked up to the top of the dunes overlooking the beach to keep a lookout.

  Uuen didn’t know what to do. He was the same age as the youngest of the Norse boys but he was a Pict and thrall, so they treated him with contempt. He wandered off down the beach and everyone continued to ignore him. After he’d gone a few hundred yards he looked back but no one was watching him. He got excited when he realised that he might be able to make a run for it and find his own people.

  Just at that moment one of the Norse boys noticed that he had wandered off. He stood up and yelled something at Uuen. He was too far away to make out what the boy was saying but he had a pretty good idea that he was telling him to get back to the ships.

  He glanced up at the dunes that lined the beach, trying to reach a decision. He wasn’t a fool and he realised that, if there were any Picts living nearby the Norse Vikings would have meted out same treatment to them as they had done to his village. Even if he had managed to evade the inevitable pursuit and find some of his own people, they would probably have only taken him in as a slave, in which case he would be no better off than he was now. Besides he was intrigued by his new clothes, his release from the thrall’s collar and his presence on this raid.

  He turned just as several boys started to walk towards him and headed back in their direction. The oldest boy cuffed him around the head when he reached them and thrust his dagger in Uuen’s face.

  ‘Wander off like that again and I’ll cut off your tiny little balls, you hear me, pig boy?’

  ‘I hear you,’ Uuen mumbled contritely, but inside he yearned to take the other boy’s dagger and slit his throat with it.

  He went and sat on the sand away from the two groups of Vikings and waited for the raiders to come back with their loot and captives.

  There wasn’t much of either, which had put Sigurd in a bad mood. The settlement they’d pillaged had been poor and the people, including the women and the boys, had put up a fierce fight. He’d lost a dozen men and had killed everyone except for four young girls in revenge, even the babies and infants.

  That night the four girls, the eldest of whom couldn’t have been more than thirteen, were raped repeatedly by the drunken Vikings and in the morning their dead, ravaged bodies were left on the beach for the seagulls to feast on. Uuen was sick over the side as they sailed away, and it wasn’t due to the motion of the sea.

  ‘It’s a waste of time raiding these Scots villages,’ the eldest of the jarl’s sons said to his fether once the sail was hoisted and the oars shipped. ‘We lost a dozen men and for what? A handful of copper coins, a ham and a night of pleasure.’

  ‘I gave my oath that I wouldn’t kill or take captives from the Northumbrian places we raid.’

  ‘Who’s to know? Just say that they’re Scots. We need more thralls and the men won’t be happy if we don’t take some young girls back with us.’

  His father nodded.

  ‘Very well, we’ll sail straight down to Northumbria and start raiding the places that Uhtred has told us about.’

  ϮϮϮ

  After a month of raiding the Vikings left the ships once more, but this time they took Uuen with them. By now the longships were full of plunder and captives. The fact that some of the places raided were monasteries or churches didn’t seem to bother the Norsemen, despite the fact that they were all supposed to be Christians. But then Uuen was a Christian too and that hadn’t helped him. He was pleased, however, that Sigurd had given him a small silver crucifix, taken from their plunder, to wear around his neck.

  All signs of the marks left by the thrall’s collar had now disappeared and he almost felt like a free man as he walked side by side with Sigurd, the jarl’s hand on his shoulder, towards the long line of warriors standing facing them.

  A few men on horseback rode forward from the shield wall facing the Vikings and Sigurd and Uuen walked to meet them, followed by Sigurd’s sons and several of his chieftains.

  ‘I’m Uhtred, son of Waltheof, Earl of Bernicia. I represent the people of Deira, many of whom you have pillaged and made captive. Who are you?’ the leader of the horsemen asked in Norse.

  ‘Sigurd, Jarl of the Orkneys, the Shetlands, Caithness, Sunderland and the Scottish Isles. I go where I like and take plunder from those weaker than me. How are you going to stop me? With that rabble? Most scratch in the dirt for a living and have no more idea of how to fight than my son here has about how to read Latin.’

  The other man looked at Uuen dubiously. This lad was wearing a fine blue woollen tunic with silver embroidery at the hems and the neck but it was too large for him, his face was filthy and his hair was lank and matted. Norsemen and Danes were much more diligent about personal hygiene than this boy. Their hair, in particular, was kept clean and well groomed. Uhtred guessed that this boy was a thrall who had been dressed up to look the part.

  Uhtred stared at the boy, who refused to meet his eye, looking down as if ashamed at the deception he had been forced to take part in. Any Norse boy, especially the son of a man as powerful as Sigurd, would have stared back with defiance, and like as not hatred.

  Another horseman, a thane called Ulfric, rode up to speak to Uhtred and said loudly in English, a language that luckily none of the Norsemen understood.

  ‘That boy is no more Sigurd’s child than I am a sheep’s dropping.’

  ‘I know; but if I challenge him he’ll have no option but to fight. I want to end this without bloodshed, if I can.’

  Ulfric smelt a rat. Uhtred hadn’t said that with conviction. Ulfric didn’t know exactly what was going on but he guessed that this was all a charade. Uhtred dismounted and walked forward to the edge of the river where he and Sigurd wouldn’t have to shout at each other. Sigurd came to meet him, waving his men back but bringing the boy with him.

  ‘If you let us depart in peace with our plunder then I swear not to harm your lands further. I’ll leave my son with you as hostage. Reject my terms and you’ll all die.’

  ‘You’ll swear by your gods to keep faith?’

  ‘I’m a Christian, not a pagan,’ Sigurd replied, affronted. ‘I’ll swear on the Holy Bible.’

  ‘Very well. One of my men will ride over and collect your son, then the Archbishop of York will come across to you to administer the oath. But first you have to release all the captives you’ve taken.’

  ‘They are all Scots,’ Sigurd said blandly.

  Uhtred doubted that very much. Some might be as no doubt the Vikings had done a little raiding on their way south along the coast, but most would be from Deira. However, Uhtred decided that it would be foolish to openly call him a liar.

  ‘Nevertheless you will release them. I have a treaty with the King of Scots.’

  That gave Sigurd pause for thought. He might decide to defy Uhtred, but Kenneth was trying to recover Caithness and Sunderland. If the armies of Northumbria went north to help him it was probable that together they could defeat the Norsemen. However, taking the Northumbrians all the way up to northern tip of Britain was as likely as snow on a hot day in August. The fyrd, in particular, wouldn’t would want to leave their homes to fight so far away. Nevertheless, Sigurd decided that he couldn’t be certain of that.

  ‘Very well, we will release them and send them across to you. Let’s get on with this.’

  And it was as simple as that. Although the banks were slippery, horses managed to climb the soft mud, albeit with difficulty. Ulfric rode across with Archbishop Wulfstan and he administered the oath, then they returned with Sigurd’s pretend son on the back of Ulfric’s horse. The boy smelled like a latrine, which confirmed his suspicion that the boy was no Norse princeling.

  The captives were released and Sigurd and his men departed without another word being said. Uhtred heard later that he had raided the coast north of the Forth and no doubt replenished their supply of thralls to make up for those he had been forced to leave behind.

  Ulfric was puzzled by the whole business. Only later did Uhtred confess that he and Sigurd had conspired to bring about the confrontation between them. Ulfric could understand the reason for the subterfuge. The Danes and Anglo-Saxons of Deira, the southern half of Northumbria, had been at each other’s throats following the massacre in Wessex the previous year. Uhtred’s ploy had succeeded in uniting them to face a common enemy in the shape of the Norsemen. It had been an extremely risky ploy but it had worked.

  Uuen fought like a tiger when Uhtred’s men stripped him and washed his filthy body and hair in the River Ouse, but he was allowed to keep his thick woollen tunic and leggings, rich though they were and far too good for a servant. He was grateful for that and, when Uhtred gave him a choice: become a swineherd again or serve the earl as his body servant, the boy had the sense to choose the latter.

  Chapter One – Flight to Normandy

  April 1017

  Aldred, Uhtred’s eldest son, stood on the walkway behind the palisade that surrounded the fortress of Bebbanburg and gloomily watched the waves crash onto the rocks below him. The overcast sky, which gave the North Sea its leaden appearance, echoed his mood. Grief for his father’s untimely death was matched by a fierce desire for revenge on the assassins - Thurbrand, a Danish noble and favourite of King Cnut, and his uncle, Eadwulf. However, another emotion troubled the twenty year old: fear.

  When Uuen, his father’s body servant, and Wictred, the only survivor of Utred’s warband, had returned to Bebbanburg to tell Aldred and his step-mother, Ælfgifu, about the ambush and death of Uhtred, both had assumed that Cnut would allow Aldred to inherit Uhtred’s lands and his earldom of Northumbria. However, word soon reached them that the Dane Erik Håkonsson was to become the new Earl of Northumbria.

  Aldred had remained quietly at Bebbanburg and had become the de facto lord of Bernicia, that part of Northumbria north of the River Tyne, and had been accepted by the ealdormen and thanes of the region. Erik had made no move to exert his authority north of the Tyne and Aldred was lulled into a false sense of security, but under the surface he worried about his uncertain status.

  His concern proved well-founded. It was nearly a year after his father’s death that he heard that Cnut had appointed Eadwulf as Earl of Bernicia and lord of Bebbanburg. He was devastated.

  ‘Why has Cnut waited so long to reward a man guilty of fratricide,’ he asked Ælfgifu bitterly.

  The two of them were seated at the high table with his half- brother, the nine year old Eadulf. The boy was scared by Aldred’s vehemence and regarded him warily. He had never seen him so angry.

  ‘I suspect that Cnut was afraid of Uhtred’s power in the north,’ she explained calmly. ‘Don’t forget that his position on the throne was precarious a year ago. I’ve no doubt that he wanted my husband dead but he couldn’t afford to be seen as responsible.’

  ‘So the Danish cur used Thurbrand and Eadwulf to do the dirty deed for him.’

  ‘Be careful what you say, Aldred, even here in your own hall.’

  ‘Why? What more can Cnut do to us?’

  ‘If he heard what you just said he could accuse you of treason and execute not just you, but your family as well.’

  That sobered Aldred up somewhat. In addition to Eadulf, he had two sisters; the children of Uhtred and Ælfgifu. Ealdgyth was now two and Ælfflaed was seven months old, having been born after Uhtred’s death.

  Ceadda, the captain of Aldred’s housecarls, who was also sitting at the high table, spoke for the first time.

  ‘It might be prudent to send out scouts, lord. We don’t want to be caught here unawares when Eadwulf arrives.’

  ‘We can hold this fortress against the king himself if necessary,’ Eadulf boasted before his brother could reply.

  ‘That may be true,’ Aldred said thoughtfully, ‘but what does that achieve. I need to think about our options.’

  Aldred didn’t have long for contemplation. Two days later one of the scouts rode in to say that Eadwulf and sixty men were about two days march away.

  ‘We must leave, Aldred,’ Ælfgifu insisted.

  ‘Leave? Yes, but where for?’

  ‘Normandy. My family is there as the guests of my uncle, Duke Richard.’

  Emma, Ælfgifu’s mother, had taken refuge there with her surviving sons when Cnut had conquered England and seized the crown. She had been the wife of the Saxon king, Æthelred, and her two sons were the last of the Royal House of Wessex. She knew that Cnut wouldn’t leave any potential challengers for his throne alive if he could help it.

  Aldred looked out over the storm tossed North Sea and despaired. There was a small warship, called a birlinn, at the sheltered jetty in Budle Bay below the castle but it would be madness to try and cross to the continent in this weather. Then he looked to the north. The sea between Budle Bay and the Holy Island of Lindisfarne was full of white capped waves, but it was far less wild than the North Sea itself.

  ‘We’ll sail across to Lindisfarne and shelter there until it’s safe to venture across the sea to Normandy,’ he said with decision. ‘We’ll need a crew; I’ll go and talk to Ceadda and the housecarls.’

  ϮϮϮ

  The birlinn waited three days in the lee of the ruins of the deserted monastery on Lindisfarne for the storm to abate. Only thirty housecarls had elected to accompany Aldred into exile and, as the birlinn had sixteen oars a side, both Aldred and his body servant, Uuen, had to take their place at the oars when necessary.

  Normally ship’s boys handled the sail, brought water and food to the rowers and kept the ship clean. However only one wanted to leave their families for an uncertain future abroad. Therefore Eadulf and his own body servant, a thirteen year old Norse boy called Fiske, joined him. In essence their duties were to handle the sail, keep lookout, clean the ship and keep the rowers fed and watered. They managed but their inexperience with the sail showed.

  ‘Fiske,’ the steersman called, ‘up the mast with you and keep your eyes peeled for any sign of another sail.’

  The boy nodded and scrambled up the ratlines tied between the shrouds that supported the mast. Once at the top, he sat on the yardarm from which the sail was hung with one arm around the topmost part of the mast. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable perch, but nothing about a birlinn was designed for comfort.

  Eadulf had watched him with trepidation. Fiske had climbed up with ease but Eadulf realised that doing so on a ship would be difficult and dangerous. He was no stranger to climbing but the rock on which Bebbanburg was built didn’t move about as if it was demented.

  Eadulf replaced Fiske as lookout just after everyone had eaten and his heart was in his mouth until he reached the yardarm. Just as he swung his leg over it the ship lurched and he nearly let go. He steadied himself and hung onto the top of the mast for dear life until he got used to the motion.

  Fiske had watched him nervously. He liked his young master and had no wish to see him crash to the deck or fall overboard. Once Eadulf was safely in position the Norse lad tucked into what was left of the smoked fish, bread and cheese that was the staple diet afloat.

  Just when Alfred thought that their voyage into exile was going to be incident free Eadulf gave a shout.

  ‘Sail in sight, no wait, there’s two of them. No, three.’

  ‘Which direction?’ the steersman called back, looking around, but from the deck the strange sails were still over the horizon.

  ‘Over there,’ Eadulf replied pointing to the north east.

  ‘Vikings,’ Aldred muttered and the steersman nodded.

  ‘Most likely,’ he confirmed.

  ‘Can we outrun them?’

  ‘They are longer at the waterline than us so they can sail faster and they are on the best point of sail.’

  Aldred looked puzzled so the steersman explained.

  ‘They are sailing on a beam reach so that wind strikes the ship sideways on. The sail is braced at forty five degrees to the direction they’re travelling so most of the wind’s force is used to drive the ship along. We are sailing close to the wind and so much of the wind is spilled from our sail. Think of it as twelve strong men pushing a cart compared to a dozen boys. Which cart will travel faster?’

  ‘So they’ll be much faster than us?’

  ‘I fear so. The only good news is that it will be dark in two hours.’

  ‘Can we stay in the lead for that long?’

  ‘Not on our present course, no. We need to turn onto the same course they are on, then we may have a chance of keeping them astern until night falls. In the dark we can turn back onto our original course and lose them, hopefully.’

  The ship’s boys raced to adjust the sail for the new course and they began to pick up speed.

  The three longships hadn’t spotted the birlinn at first, or so it seemed. Perhaps their lookouts were stationed at the prow instead of up the mast. However, just after the three craft became visible from the deck of the birlinn a faint line of splashes appeared at either side of the ships. The crews were rowing to try and increase their speed.