The two women ran to the hall where Aylwin was barking orders to his men. As they hastened to obey, he turned to Elgiva.
‘Go bar yourself in the upper chamber, my lady. It will be far safer. Take Osgifu and the children too.’
Before she had a chance to reply one of Aylwin’s men spoke out, throwing a dark glance at Osgifu.
‘I’ve been told that this woman is of Danish blood, my lord. How do we know she can be trusted?’
Elgiva surveyed him with anger. ‘Osgifu has served my family faithfully and well for many years. Her loyalty is not in question nor ever has been.’
The man reddened. ‘I beg pardon, my lady.’
Aylwin glared at him, then nodded towards the door. The other took the hint and beat a hasty retreat.
‘I’m sorry, Elgiva.’ Aylwin laid a soothing hand on her arm. ‘Such times make men cautious.’
‘So it seems.’
With an effort Elgiva forced down her indignation. It would not aid their cause to quarrel among themselves. She turned to Osgifu.
‘Fetch Hilda and the children and the women servants. Then go with them to the upper floor.’
If Osgifu had been in any way discomforted by the conversation, it was not evident. Returning Elgiva’s gaze, she asked, ‘What about you, child?’
‘I will come presently, but there is something I must fetch first.’
‘Make haste then, my lady,’ said Aylwin. With one last warm smile he hurried off to join his men outside.
Elgiva raced back to the bower and, throwing open the chest in the corner, retrieved the sword from the bottom. The familiar weight of the weapon was comforting. At least they should not be completely defenceless if the worst came to the worst. Closing her hand round the scabbard, she slammed the chest shut and went to join the others, barring the stout door behind her as Aylwin had instructed. Then she took up a station by the far window. The shutters were pulled to, but through a broken slat she could see much of the hustle and activity below as men ran to their posts. Aylwin had his plan ready days earlier and each one of his retainers knew where he was supposed to be. Within a short time they were ready, armed to the teeth, and grimly determined to defend their homes and their lives.
The clanging bell had brought the peasants from the fields and the wood to seek the relative safety of the pale. No sooner were they gathered within than the men on the wall called out a warning as the forward ranks of the Viking host appeared. Like an army of sinister wraiths, silent and intent, they emerged from among the trees into the pasture beyond. One of their archers loosed an arrow, killing a Saxon guard where he stood. Then, as though at a signal, a great shout went up from the invaders, splitting the stillness, and they surged forwards as one.
‘Merciful heavens,’ murmured Aylwin. ‘Surely this can be no ordinary raiding party. There are hundreds of them.’ By his private reckoning his men would be outnumbered five to one.
Beside him, his armed companion had made a similar calculation. ‘This is revenge indeed for their dead chieftain.’
What Aylwin might have said next was lost in a hissing rain of arrows. It covered the advance of the Viking vanguard that carried ladders to raise against the walls. Swiftly the defenders loosed their own arrows in reply, but each time one of the attackers fell he was immediately replaced and the assault renewed. The Saxons maintained a deadly fire from above, but to right and left the invaders swarmed up the ladders and over the walls. The first were cut down without mercy, but their comrades followed hard on their heels and soon fierce battle was enjoined, filling the air with shouts and the clash of arms.
Peering through the gap in the shutters, Elgiva stared in horror at the scene of carnage below and murmured a prayer. Everywhere she looked the Viking marauders were pouring in over the walls.
‘God in heaven, can there be so many?’
Giants they seemed, these fierce warriors, cruel with battle thirst, each face alight with lust for blood and conquest. With sword and axe they cut down all who stood in their way, crying out the name of their war god.
‘Odin!’
The cry was repeated from four hundred throats as the Norsemen drove forwards, fearless into the ranks of their foes. The defenders fought bravely but the sheer weight of numbers pushed them back, step by step, the enemy advancing over the bodies of the slain, remorseless, hacking their way on. As the defenders fell back, Elgiva could see another group of the enemy without the palisade, dragging a huge battering ram into position. It was the trunk of a tree, fresh hewn and drawn on a wheeled timber cradle. Under cover of ox-hide shields the marauders rolled the supporting cradle back and forth, building momentum until the end of the trunk crashed against the gate. The stout timbers creaked, but held. Elgiva stared in horrified fascination as with each swing the gate shook. Alive to the danger the nearest Saxon defenders rallied to the gate and swarmed to the rampart inside the palisade, raining arrows and rocks on to the men beneath.
For a little while it seemed that they had met with success; several of the Vikings fell and the momentum of the great ram was lost. It was a brief respite—in moments reinforcements arrived and other warriors stepped up to take the places of their fallen comrades. The assault on the gate began anew. The timbers shuddered and splintered. Amid the clash of arms and shouts of men a thunderous crack announced the breach, followed by a roar of triumph from the invading horde who poured through the gap like a tide beneath their black-raven banner.
Helpless, Elgiva could only watch as the Saxon defence crumbled and her retainers were beaten back towards the great hall. Beside them Aylwin and his men fought on, shoulder to shoulder, returning the enemy blow for blow. Half a dozen more men fell under Aylwin’s sword while all around him the group of defenders grew smaller and more desperate, redoubling their efforts, hacking and thrusting and parrying, each man determined to sell his life dear. Tireless they seemed, yet one by one they fell. Aylwin fought on, laying about him with a will, his sword smoking and bloody as it rose and fell, slashing and cutting until the bodies were piled before him. And then its edge struck the blade of a huge war axe. The sword shivered and Aylwin was left undefended. He hurled the sundered hilt at the foe in a last act of defiance before the enemy blade cut him down.
Elgiva’s hand flew to her lips, stifling her cry, and she closed her eyes a moment, forcing back tears. Weakness would not help Aylwin now, or any of the survivors who would depend on her. Striving to regain some measure of self-control she turned from the window, sombrely regarding the other occupants of the room. Seeing that stony expression, Hilda let out a terrified sob as she cowered, clutching the baby, Pybba, to her breast. The nursemaid was but six and ten years old and plainly terrified. Osgifu stood beside her, pale but silent, her arm about the three-year-old Ulric, who clutched her skirt and bit a trembling lip. Around them the women servants sobbed.
In the hall below were gathered a handful of men left for their defence. Violent banging on the barred outer doors announced the invaders’ intent and the great timbers shuddered. Elgiva knew it could only be a matter of time before they broke through for above the din she heard the sinister thunk of axes against timber. A woman screamed. Minutes later the door gave way amid a roar of voices and the clash of weapons as the defenders tried to stem the tide of invaders. Shouts and shrieks filled the hall. More invaders poured in through the shattered doorway. Several made for the stairway in pursuit of plunder. Elgiva heard the heavy footfalls and men’s voices. Someone tried the chamber door and found it barred. Then she heard a man’s voice.
‘Break it down!’
There followed the fearsome sound of axes in wood. Hilda let out a stifled sob of terror. The baby began to cry and in desperation she tried to quiet it, while little Ulric looked on, wide-eyed with fright. Elgiva looked from them to the door, which shook under the assault. In another minute the first blades were visible through a hole in the timber, a hole that grew larger with each blow. A few more moments and they would be through. With beating heart she backed away to the far side of the room, watching the splintering wood in helpless horror, struggling to control her growing fear. With her back to the wall, she closed her hand round the hilt of the sword and, taking a deep breath, drew the blade from the sheath.
As she did so the door burst asunder and the first three men fell into the room, followed by half a dozen more. Their greedy gaze fell immediately on the cowering group in front of them and they strode forwards, seizing upon the women servants. One man grabbed hold of Hilda, who clutched the baby in one arm and the terrified Ulric in the other. Osgifu strove to come between, but a heavy blow sent her reeling back into the wall. She hit her head and fell, stunned. Hilda shrieked, struggling wildly against the hands that held her, her screams mingling with those of the baby.
Outraged to see such treatment meted out to the weak and helpless, Elgiva stepped forwards.
‘Leave them alone! Let them go!’
It proved a futile protest, but the words drew attention from a different quarter and Elgiva found herself confronting another armed man. Tall and well made, fair of hair and beard, he might have been handsome save for the thin cruel lips drawn back in an indulgent sneer.
‘Well now, what have we here?’