Blood Eye(41)

But when I pushed through the long, sharp grass of the brow overlooking the beach, my guts twisted and pulled taut. It was raining fire on Serpent and Fjord-Elk, burning brands flying into their hulls from almost a dozen small craft bobbing on the flame-lit sea. And Glum's men were teeming across both longships, slinging pails of water everywhere, picking up the firebrands with their bare hands and throwing them into the sea. A knot of Norsemen stood in a shieldwall before the ships, waiting for an attack from the darkness whilst their comrades struggled to save their beloved dragons.





I looked for Ealhstan among the throng, but it was too dark and I was too far away. Even with the flying firebrands, it was impossible to make out individuals, and so I yelled down to the Norsemen that Sigurd was fighting for his life. But even if they heard, which was unlikely, they had their ships to look to, for without them they would be stranded and it would be a miracle if any Norsemen survived to see the next sunset. Then, in the breeze that bent the long grass towards me, bringing water to my eyes, I would have sworn I felt one of Óðin's handmaidens swooping past, brushing my face with her breath as she flew towards Ealdred's hall. I knew Norsemen were dying so I turned my back on the struggle below, thumped my helmet down securely and ran back along the stream's bank towards Jarl Sigurd, finding my way more easily now that my eyes were accustomed to the night. I would have run straight past Eric's corpse, but I saw the cream-coloured war horn at his waist and stopped to rip it free before continuing.





I passed between the low hills, seeing a dim pall of light in the sky from Ealdred's village, then crested the rise and stopped to catch my breath, looking down into the settlement as the cries of the dying carried up to me. Sigurd's men had fought their way to the south side of the village where they had made the swine array, their backs towards me, their shields overlapping as they fought off the English. But then I made out a band of Ealdred's men cutting round from the west of the settlement, using the houses for cover as they sought to surround the Norsemen. There was no time to descend the slope and warn them. In a few heartbeats Sigurd's men would get blades thrust into their backs. I gripped the war horn and leant back, filling my lungs with cool, predawn air, then blew hard enough to wake the gods. The note soared into the night like the promise of approaching dawn and it was deep and long and true, and then a great cheer came from the darkness below. And the Sword-Norse were not alone in thinking their brothers had come to add to the slaughter, for the English suddenly broke off their attack and retreated, keeping their shields towards their enemies. I bent low, hoping the English would not see me, for then they would know I was alone, and I ran to Sigurd's swine array. Before I got there Black Floki turned, flashing his teeth at me in the darkness.





'The English are coming round from the west,' I said, pointing to where I had seen the war band trying to blindside the Norsemen.





'I've seen them,' Floki hissed, stepping aside to let me take my place between him and Bram.





'Glum's not coming, then,' Bram growled, glancing down at the war horn still in my hand.





'They're trying to burn the ships,' I said, and Bram grunted as though he had already accepted that this would be a fight to the end. Arrows were thudding into shields and striking helmets.





'I say we leave this turd of a village,' Svein the Red said, as though it were a simple matter of just walking away.





'Eric?' Olaf said, keeping his eyes fixed on the torchlit English shieldwall which was growing in density a spear's throw away. I did not reply. 'Well, lad? Is he with Glum?'





'I'm sorry, Olaf,' I said, feeling the weight of other men's eyes on me. Sigurd turned and held my eye, as though trying to take from my mind the manner of Eric's death, but Olaf remained silent. Then the big man strode forward, abandoning the relative safety of the swine array, and marched towards the English line.





'Well, you sons of goats?' he roared. 'You snot-swilling, shit-eating pig bladders! Come and feel my sword in your puke-filled bellies! Come, English dog-faces, come and feel my spear in your stinking brains!'





Sigurd stepped forward. 'I have seen old ladies fight better than you dung heaps!' he yelled at the English, and as one the swine array marched forward beating their swords against their shields, until they were level with Olaf and Jarl Sigurd and spitting distance from their enemy. I quickly tied the war horn to my belt and gripped my sword in both hands. The battle fever shook my limbs and soured my guts, and the English, who were not as well armed and who did not resemble gods of war as these Sword-Norse did, must have seen their deaths approaching with the orange glow in the east.