The Invasion
Eliana woke from her slumber when the faint, yet strong scent of smoke filled her room. She slipped out of the bed and tiredly stepped over to her window that faced the town. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until the corner of her eye caught a flash of orange light permeating the night. Quickly and with renewed energy, she went to her other window, the same one that had allowed her to see the head of the Viking on the wall.
The front barracks, at least a significant portion of them, were on fire. The gates joining the fort to the town were open, with men and guards carrying buckets filled with water from the mill to the burning thatch housing.
"My Lady! My Lady!" Gwen rushed into the room, trailing a brunette girl behind her. She closed the door quickly. "Your mother told me to bring this girl to you. She is the victim of a Viking attack."
Eliana turned around and looked at the two girls. Her mind took a moment to clear. "Why is she here?"
"It was the Queen's order, just until they contain the fire." Gwen sat the girl down on the chair in front of a small alcove. "My Lady, I have to return to fill the pitchers for the guards."
Eliana attempted to stop Gwen, but the maid rushed out of the door. Eliana sighed and shook her head, instead focused on the girl that her mother had ordered to be brought to her chambers. She looked surprisingly underwhelmed at the events she had been through. Eliana had heard the passing bards' storytelling of the brutality of the Vikings, of their reputation as unrelenting pillagers and subjecting innocent maidens to the worse kind of violence. "What is your name, girl?"
She looked up at Eliana but shook her head and looked back down at her lap. She stuttered her words, "I... can't."
Eliana knelt in front of her. "Cannot what? Speak Anglisc[1]?" She put her hand on hers and the girl pulled back crying out a word in another language. "I do not wish to harm you; you are under my protection." Eliana glanced down at the girl's cupped hands - she was holding something. It looked small, so Eliana didn't worry too much that she was concealing a weapon. Her heartbeat still picked up its pace though.
Maeve noticed that the Princess's eyes had been focused on her hands for a few prolonged moments. In a quick action, Eliana reached out to tug open the clasped hands. Maeve tried to push her away. The two girls tumbled to the floor in an awkward struggle to gain the mysterious object.
——-
Two warriors, on each side of the town, emerged from the woods clad in dark clothes and hoods. Simultaneously, they nocked a single arrow and aimed for the chests of the guard that stood watch. Both arrows met their target within seconds. The two men, with utmost silence, closed the gap between the line of trees and the Roman fortress. From their belts, they gathered a rope with a carved stone tied at the end. One flick of their wrists and the stone was coiled around the foot of the wooden structure built upon the tower. With the aid of the jagged 12-foot wall and the rope, the two men climbed until they reached the dead bodies.
The fire was burning in the distance and the two men used the distraction to deposit the bodies and continue across the outer wall to reach the second guard tower. They unsheathed their jewelled seaxes[2] and, while one hand muffled the guard's cry, the other pierced the heart. Two owl calls echoed through the night, a signal to the waiting soldiers.
The three guards on the fort's watchtowers were next. With ease, three arrows were nocked in place on the bow and released. Their chief had told them that no mercy was to be shown.
Upon hearing the signal, several soldiers propped two long planks of wood against the watchtowers. The warriors used them to form a bridge between the fort and the town's watchtowers. When they crossed it, the remaining guards along the walls charged with their weapons, but three single arrows pierced the Saxon's necks - archers having been in wait on each side of the fort.
The two men pulled the numerous lengths of rope from their waists and tied them to the wall, before dropping them down to the soldiers below. Gunnar, Sköll, Leif and Olaf reached the top first. While the archers took their places on and around the watchtowers, the combat warriors prepared for the signal to launch their attack.
"You did well, Bjørn." Sköll patted the younger man's back. "You have proved yourself, there will be a reward for you when we win."
Bjørn bowed his head and moved to his position, with Sköll, above the gate. The men jumped, Sköll's axe and Bjørn's sword killing the guards below. Their groans were drowned out by the Vikings' battle cries as arrows were launched and the warriors dropped from the wall.
Sköll slammed the two wooden gates closed, ordering two men to guard it - to prevent the remaining town's guards from entering.
"Skjaldborg[3]! Hold the skjaldborg!" Gunnar yelled over the commotion of the fire, from behind his men, on one side of the fort. Another shield wall was intact on the other side, led by Leif. Spears and swords clashed where the two armies met. Archers flanked the Saxon forces along the outer wall.
Sköll smiled; he knew this fight would be over soon.
——-
Eliana kept her grip on the girl's hand while the other clawed at anything within reach. She knew her actions were not what her mother had taught her, but the peasant girl, who now had Eliana pinned beneath her, very clearly did not want her to know what she had in her possession, and to Eliana that meant it was not supposed to be discovered.
"Stop resisting!" Eliana panted through gritted teeth. "Why will you not let me see?"
The girl did not answer her words, and still refused to allow her hands to open.
Maeve and Eliana stopped their quarrel when a booming chant echoed from outside. Eliana looked up to Maeve and noticed a smile on her lips. She used the distraction to push the girl off her.
She fell backwards, her hands opening to stop her fall, with it a small vial of green liquid rolled across the floor towards Eliana's leg. She quickly picked it up, shaking it, her eyes examining it closely.
Maeve rushed to stop Eliana from pulling out the cork. "No, no, please."
"Why not? What is it?"
Maeve searched for the right words. "Poison. Please do not do that."
Eliana tried to comprehend why a peasant girl, the survivor of a Viking attack, was carrying a poison and why she valued it so much that she fought her kingdom's princess to keep it. Then she realized. With a gasp, she ran to the window, depositing the vial on a pocket of her gown.
Her father's men were being massacred by a strong force of ruthless fighters that had surrounded them on all sides. Two lines of archers stood on the walls, alternating between firing and nocking. She looked to the village, wondering why no one was aiding. Then her eyes found two men hacking at any guard who got too close to the barricaded gates. The Saxon men stood no chance; they appeared to be no more than target practice for the Viking army who seemed at ease with battle.
"This was your doing!" She turned and pointed a finger at the girl. "You are no victim of their attack. You aided them. I should have known, you have no wounds, no marks to show you have been running from them." She took the poison from her pocket, her voice riddled with anger. "What about this? Hmm? I suppose this is to murder my family. How could you?" She sighed and sat on the edge of her lectern. "They're going to kill us and pillage our home."
Maeve moved towards her. "No, no." She shook her head. Eliana was confused; this girl had changed within seconds. She seemed so meek; her tone was quiet and sweet. "The poison is for me. If it did not work, but do not fear; he has come for you."
Eliana shrugged the girl off and stood back at her window. She felt the girl behind her, her head next to hers. "Him, the Chief." She pointed at a longhaired man walking alone down the path towards the Great Hall. He slashed at any approaching guards. One Viking brutally fell a soldier who got too close to the girl's chief. With a sudden movement, he stopped and looked at someone with a large, albeit menacing, smile. Another man - a savage looking man - came to stand beside him, again looking at the same person.
An older, Saxon man stepped into Eliana's eyesight. Her heart dropped, wondering why her father was taking on three Vikings alone, as everyone around them had stopped fighting - save for the few of the men ending the lives of unsuspecting Saxons. The King and the Invaders were talking, but she couldn't make out the words exchanged.
——-
Sköll's eyes sought out the doors of the Great Hall. His hand clutched at his carved, double-headed axe - a gift from his Uncle - and the other held his shield in front of him. A Saxon guard ran at him, only to be decapitated by one blow of the axe. Two more came at his sides. Sköll ducked and swung his axe through one man's stomach. With his shield, he snapped the back of the other's knees and sent his axe through his chest as he fell.
Sköll heard a shout behind him and turned, raising his axe.
Leif ran towards the soldier, who was one movement away from slicing Sköll. An iron seax concealed in his leather gauntlet pierced through the soldier's weak leather armour as Leif threw him to the ground.
Sköll nodded his thanks and saw another attacker nearing his side. He pulled his shield off his arm and, with a flick of his wrist, sent the round, razor-edged shield through the air to mutilate another's neck. Sköll sensed another Saxon behind him. He smirked; he didn't need to turn, he only needed to strike his axe over his shoulder - one edge burying itself in the soldier's neck - then he allowed his body to turn completely and swung the other edge of the axe into a second approaching soldier's abdomen. The body travelled several feet before crashing into the two attackers charging Sköll down from behind. The Saxon men did not have the foresight to defend themselves against the quick, planned attacks of the invaders. Sköll stepped back towards the two men desperately struggling to free themselves from the weight of their dead compatriot. The axe struck twice to end their efforts.
Sköll saw the doors to the Great Hall open, the light turning three men into silhouettes. A commanding voice halted the English warriors around the fort grounds. But the Vikings' orders were clear and they had been told to kill every one of the King's men without mercy, so they proceeded to.
"You have no business here, heathens." The King called. "Leave now and I will spare you."
Gunnar pushed past the remaining men and stood just in front of his brother and Leif. "And who do you have but yourself to see that threat through?"
King Freodheric had to stand his ground. His stance nearly faltered at hearing the Vikings speaking clear Anglisc, though with a strange accent. "The Ealdormen of the towns will come to my aid once they hear of tonight."
"Nay, my lord," Gunnar pulled a sword from the chest of a dead body, "we have secured the town's guard towers and have several of our own patrolling. No man, woman or child is permitted to leave the walls." He wiped the blood on his tunic. "Now, do you wish to comply and hand over every ounce of control you have and every acre of your land to my brother, or shall I just kill you now? I would prefer the latter, but I offer you the choice."
Sköll raised an eyebrow at his brother's mocking tone, though an amused expression lit his face. A look over his shoulder at Leif told him who would fight the King in an einvigi[4]. The man was standing in a fixed stance, his hands resting on the hilt of his sword and his eyes never wavering from the man who ordered his sons death.
"Bróðir[5]," Sköll stepped up to Gunnar and spoke quietly, in their native tongue, "Leif should be the man to kill the King. It is right he should avenge the death of his son. Is that not why we are here?"
Gunnar chuckled. "It is for these reasons I am glad you are here this day." He turned to the King. "You are to fight Leif, father of Alfarr, the boy you had executed. A fight to the death, whoever wins is granted life. But, of course, if Leif is the victor, all of the royal lands, properties, people, princesses are forfeited to us - your conquerors." Gunnar bowed, a sardonic tone lacing his performance, as was usual for the second oldest Lord.
"I do not agree. That was not my decision." Freodheric shouted.
"You were taking too long to decide." Sköll ended the conversation and, with Gunnar, moved to the side of the path to allow Leif to take his place opposite his opponent.
The King paused when Leif stopped only a few feet away from him. He watched the Viking's hand clenching around the grip of his axe, his long, blonde hair had become untied in the battle and now hung around his face while his blonde beard was stained with blood. The King had armour, though weaker than those of the Vikings, but had walked into battle without a shield. Leif threw his own shield to the side and took one step forward. Freodheric gestured to the two men beside him to begin their attack.
Gunnar raised his hand, and with one command several arrows were fired at the guards, who now merely slumped at their former ruler's feet.
The first swing of the King's heavy, ancestral sword was enough, enough time for Leif to move. Leif's right hand swung upwards, the axe he held in it gathered momentum, with swift speed the blade sunk into the left side of the abdomen, though the old man had blocked the brunt of the hit with his gauntlet. The King stepped back, doubling over and spitting onto the ground. He stood again.
"Saurigr saxar skítkarl[6]!" Leif taunted, a smirk on his lips as he and the King circled each other. "Hel taki þik[7]!"
Leif ran towards him, one hand clutching at his axe, aiming for the King's heart. But Freodheric anticipated it, to Leif's advantage and the King lunged forward. The Norseman ducked and turned to shred the other man's back with his seax, a quicker offence, sending the blade through the thin cloth.
Leif allowed the King to turn as he blocked one swing before they came face to face, their weapons clashing in a cross between them. They glowered at each other for a moment, both attempting to push the other off balance. Leif's stance was unmoving. The King's, on the other hand, was unstable.
Sköll saw Leif's eyes quickly move to him. He knew his second-in-command was seeking the permission to slaughter the King in a way Leif himself saw fit, in blood payment for his son's death. Sköll gave a short, almost unnoticeable nod of his head, but Leif saw. His eyes turned back to the King.
Leif immediately put all his power into one hand and, with the end of the axe, his knuckles connected with the side of Freodheric's skull. The older man faltered. Leif raised his knee and kicked him in the chest. The attack had the desired effect and Freodheric clutched at his chest gasping for breath.
Leif stood over him, his chest heaving with the rapid beating of his heart. It made no difference that the King's lungs were pierced in four places by his shattered ribs; the axe head, low to his neck, ended his suffering.
Sköll smiled, but a light from the fort caught his attention. He looked up, a small window stood out from the rest. A yellow candlelight illuminated the glass. Sköll knew it was his treasure - the treasure he had been seeking and had dared not tell his brother, in fear he would demand her instead. This ambush and battle, for Sköll, was all for one Princess he had only heard tales and poems about from travelling skalds[8] and merchants.
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[1]Early form of English - used to speak and write by Anglo Saxons
[2]Old English word for 'knife' - a term typical of the Germanic peoples
[3]Old Norse for 'shield wall' - a fighting technique used by most armies of the time, though none as proficiently as the Norse
[4]Literally meaning 'single combat' - was an unregulated duel to the death with no judge, by Germanic descendants (Old English = artwig)
[5]Old Norse for 'brother'
[6]Old Norse for 'dirty saxon bastard'
[7]Old Norse for 'may Hel take you' - Hel is a female being who resides over the Norse realm of the dead (Helheim)
[8]Old Norse poets / bards