Penda made a surprised sound in the back of his throat as he stared after the dying Welshman whose head had slumped to his chest. Then he turned and we followed him back up the hill. 'I was wrong about that spear,' he said.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE WELSH CAME AT US ON A WIDE FRONT, THEIR LEATHER-COVERED shields presenting a grim, black wall. Other than their shields it seemed they lacked for decent armour. Their helmets were of toughened leather, not iron and steel, and as far as I could tell only a handful of them had mail; not full brynjas, but rather strips of mail fastened over chests and throats.
'We'll tear these bastards apart, Oswyn,' I said, taking my place in the centre of the shieldwall.
'I'm slobbering like a dog, lad,' he replied, banging his spear against his shield. 'I look forward to seeing what you've got, Norseman,' he gave me a grim smile, 'so don't disappoint me.' Even though I was amongst Christians, I whispered a prayer to brave Týr who loves battle, and mighty Thór, and Óðin Spear-Shaker, that I would prove worthy and that my place in the wall would mean death to the Welsh. They were still two hundred paces away. I could see them clearly now, the hate in their snarling faces, the violence in their rhythmic, trudging step. I was afraid.
'Now's the time to send your arrows, Eafa!' I called.
'Don't need a bloody heathen to tell me when to shoot!' Eafa snarled. And I smiled. That's it, Eafa, I thought. Hate is good. Hate will help you kill and go on killing when the lifeblood of the man beside you slaps your face and blinds your eyes. Eafa's first arrow took to the sky in a low arc before embedding in a Welsh shield. It was a fine shot. But soon a man with half Eafa's skill would not miss, there were so many Welshmen coming up the hill. More Wessex arrows streaked like swifts over my head and the first Welshmen fell. When they were one hundred paces away we bent to the piles of stones and hurled them with curses. Most bounced off the black shields, doing nothing to slow their advance, but some broke noses or cut heads.
'Not long now, lads!' Penda called. 'Hold your line! Keep those shields up!' The Welsh were shooting their own arrows now, but they either dug into the slope below us or sailed harmlessly overhead. Men on both sides shouted and cursed as though they believed the noise might drown their own fear. Those who had been millers and farmers until now snarled and spat like wild beasts to sow terror in their foes' hearts, willing their own rage to consume them and turn them into killing creatures impervious to pain. Saba threw a stone which smashed into a Welshman's temple and the Wessexmen gave a great cheer as their enemies stepped round the fallen man.
'That's it, Saba!' Oswyn roared. 'Give them another like that!' But the next stone Saba hurled fell short and it was the Welsh's turn to jeer. In moments our shieldwalls would close and the killing would begin. Many times since that day I have taken my place in the shieldwall and felt my bowels turn to liquid and my belly turn sour. I have known fear and tasted bitter terror on my tongue. But that day the death calm fell upon me and I could not have been more thankful, because I believed that it was a sign from the Norns of fate that they were still weaving my life's pattern and if that was true then I could not die. I laugh now to think of the arrogance of youth. Young men believe they are immortal. They wear pride's son, conceit, like a mail brynja they believe will preserve them. Now, if I met myself as I was then, I would send me sprawling with the back of my hand to teach me humility. Yet in another way I am glad I was arrogant, that I knew the thrill of standing with other men on the edge of life, in the midst of death, together. For when I met the Welsh in battle that day, I believe Óðin All-Father was amused. He laughed at the red-eyed boy who shook his spear at the enemy and spilt their blood slickly across Welsh grass. It is good to amuse the gods.
With a great crash like breakers on flat rocks, our shields struck and men hacked and heaved and rammed their spears overarm into others' faces. The rancid stink of the enemy filled my nose. Deep roars liquefied to squeals as blades found unprotected flesh. Through my shield I felt the weight of the entire enemy shieldwall and I planted my right foot squarely behind me to anchor myself to the spot. The man I faced died easily enough. I jabbed my spear repeatedly but blindly over the top of my shield until it struck home, bringing a yell from the Welshman, who dropped his shield slightly so that I could see the gash where his eye had been, now a bloody black hole of torn flesh. I sank my spear's point home again, this time into his open mouth, twisting it to smash his teeth, then ramming it into his throat. His legs buckled and he fell, but the weight on our line was such that we were already being driven back up the rise. We formed a crescent, our bowmen moving to the flanks to pour their shafts into the Welsh who sought to come round the edges and get behind us. So far Eafa and the others were holding them back.