Blood Eye(40)

'We tear into them,' Halfdan said, his two blond plaits shining in the orange light. 'We go at them from the main door, screaming like demons, and in the confusion Eric climbs through there.' He pointed to the hole in the high roof that drew the hearth smoke. 'Then he makes a run for it whilst we're killing Englishmen.'





'And their dogs,' Floki added with a grimace.





'We fight our way clear back to the ships,' Halfdan finished, folding his arms to show that there was no more. The men gave their opinions, some for the plan, others against it. 'What else is there?' Halfdan asked irritably, holding out his hands.





Sigurd gave a curt nod and raised his hand to silence the others. 'It's not much of a plan, Halfdan. More Thór's than Loki's,' he said. Then he smiled, his teeth like fangs. 'But I like it.'





Before a fight a man's bladder fills up, so putting out the fire was easy enough, but the acrid smoke was slung thick beneath the thatch and this, coupled with the small candlelight, meant that Eric did well to clamber up two upended benches to the roof beam which was closest to the smoke hole. There he crouched between the beam and the thatch, ready to pull himself out on to the roof as soon as the fight began.





'Here, lad, blow it hard as the bloody north wind,' Olaf said, passing his war horn up to Eric. 'Get a fire going again, lads, before they get suspicious, but only a small one, mind. We don't want to roast the boy. It would be a hard thing to explain to his mother.'





'I need four of you to stay in here,' Sigurd said, the words hanging heavy in the smoky air. 'The doors must be guarded in case we need to get back inside.' He knew he was asking much, not because it would be a terrible thing to be left behind, but because there would be less glory for those who remained whilst the others attacked. None of the Norsemen volunteered, though a couple of them glanced at me and I knew they wanted me to be one of the ones who stayed. 'Knut, Thormod, Ivar, Asgot. You stay.' Each nodded glumly. 'Raven, if you get a chance, fly after Eric and get to the ships. You'll only get in our way out there.' His eyebrows arched. 'Glum must decide whether to come and fight or take the ships home.' He looked at Olaf, both men aware of the risks.





'A hard choice, hey, Sigurd?' Olaf said, the prospect lying heavy across his brow. 'If he comes, Serpent and Fjord-Elk will be as vulnerable as two hares in a snake pit.'





'I'll tell him, lord,' I replied, gripping my sword tightly to stop the trembling that had begun in my legs and spread to my fingertips. I had bound the wound on my shin tightly and I looked down, grimacing the pain away and noting that blood had soaked through the linen. 'It won't slow me down,' I said in answer to Black Floki's questioning eyes, and I meant it, though I knew the brynja would.





'Are we ready?' Sigurd asked. The blood on their clothes had barely dried and these Sword-Norse were once again preparing to sow death amongst their enemies.





'Wait, Sigurd,' Black Floki said. He was fixing a plait which had worked itself loose, spilling dark hair across his face. 'I want to see these Englishmen as I'm killing them.' When it was done, Floki put on his helmet, thumping it down securely. 'Let's make Týr wish he was with us,' he growled, invoking the Norse battle god whose hand was bitten off by the fettered wolf Fenrir.





'For Týr!' Svein the Red roared.





'Týr!' Bram repeated, hefting his axe, and the others invoked other gods too, such as Óðin and Thór, and some men called on the souls of their fathers.





Sigurd revealed his wolfish grin. 'Let us repay English generosity,' he said, nodding to Ivar and Asgot who removed the makeshift barrier. With a roar like a bear, Sigurd, son of Harald the Hard, charged into the firelit night, and the women who had come to watch the heathens die screamed.





In a heartbeat the Norsemen were amongst the English, slashing and stabbing with a fury like the wild ocean. They made no shieldwall this time, as the English would have surrounded it easily, but instead picked out the best-armed warriors and fought them man to man, desperate to break their enemy's spirit. I stood at the door of Ealdred's hall, looking for my chance, but it was mayhem as the English, who were now defending their homes, fought with ferocity to match the heathens'. The noise of battle, of iron on wood, and confusion and slaughter ripped into the night. Men cursed and screamed.





'Fly, Raven!' Knut shouted, and so I threw down my shield and ran towards the great dark hill overlooking Ealdred's hall, towards the shingle path that glistened wetly in the moonlight. The rings of my brynja jangled as I ran and then I tripped over something in the long grass, biting my tongue savagely. My mouth filled with blood and I spat, then something bright caught my eye. A shock of white in the moonlight. Pale arrow fletchings fluttered above the corpse. Eric had removed his mail so he would run faster and he had almost made it clear. Óðin's maidens found you, Eric, I thought, wiping bloody spittle from my chin. Air slapped my face from an arrow whipping past and I ducked and ran up the path, screaming, 'Come and take me if you can! Come, bitches of the dead! Come, demons!' I should have put Njal's sword into Eric's hand to ensure his place in Óðin's great hall, but to stay was to die and so I scrambled on, following the stream and hoping to wake the dragon who lived there, for it would add chaos to a night already drenched in it. And the gods love chaos.