บท 6: WORK IN PROGRESS*** Beware the storm
Laying on his tent, Birger felt he had rested enough.
The rain hissed as it hit the ground outside.
He could see the mist below the flaps of his tent.
There was a fog over the hills that could only be the consequence of the cold.
Birger looked through the gab of his tent and noticed the men walking through the camp, mist and rain coming in around them.
But then, he felt a familiar sensation. It was as if suddenly all outside noise died down.
The light from outside seemed to dim.
"Greetings brother!" Someone said.
Birger attention was drawn to his unexpected visitor.
"Remember me?" Said the figure of a beautiful woman with raven hair.
Her eyes were green as emerald, her skin was fair as a pure white marble stone.
She lied beside him, she was staring at him, waiting for his reply.
Birger decided to play coy. Ignoring her sneaky approach, he just pretended to rest. "Who are you? Can't you see this is my tent?"
The magical woman grinds her teeth, but decides to continue. "Oh please, are you going to tell me you became such an inferior being without keeping your memories. No, I have to admit you are above that."
Birger let out a laugh with his eyes closed. "You got me there. So... how are you doing, sister?"
"Oh nothing special, just making my mark in Midgard. I assume you are doing the same. What? Being regarded as the god of war wasn't enough? You felt the urge to bleed as a mortal?"
"Perhaps." Birger replied.
Loki clenched her jaw. Thor always knew how to annoy her.
"How is father? and mother?" He asked.
"Disappointed at you. Father has forbidden us to talk about you. Mother comes to visit your sleeping body every night." She said while staring somewhere else.
"I see. I did warn everyone though."
At his words, Loki shouted at him. "And so what? This foolishness has to end."
He just smiled. "I'm afraid this won't be possible. Promise to visit you after a thousand years."
The woman just snickered at him and muttered. "Fool."
"Do they know my location?" He asked after just realizing he might soon receive another visit.
"No. It appears I'm the only one that really knows you. You want glory. You want fame." She answered him while looking him in the eye.
Noticing he was half naked, she immediately turned her back to him. "It seems your time among these primitive beings made you lose your manners."
"Says the woman that enters a man's tent without permission."
Loki grumped at his remark and looked back.
"Goodbye... Birger." And so she vanished.
Finally alone, Birger began to get himself ready.
Battle was near.
———————————————————
Birger's hair was braided and was hanging around his neck.
His eyes were blue as the sky, his shield was on his arm, and the belt at his waist carried his trusted short sword.
The Saxons were bringing a formidable force before them.
As the field was coming into sight, they would have to climb a hill for full view of it, for Raul's plan to be enacted by the Saxon army spotting them as they split apart.
Some of the men groaned.
It was a very steep hill.
Going through the battle plan in her head he recalled.
Split into two when the Saxons advance, head into the trees, wait for the Saxons to be corralled to the edge of the forest, pelt them with arrows.
The wind howled across the grass and it crept beneath Birger's mail and tunic to run over his skin.
Finally they crested the hill.
Mist rolled in over the hills, which were a green that almost seemed unnatural.
Birger thought of how beautiful England looked, especially with its cover of clouds and fog.
The Saxons were across the field.
They had a large army.
Just as great as the forces they were fielding, which meant for this to be a much larger battle than the skirmish against the monastery's forces had been.
He turned his head and saw Leif much farther down the line with his father.
He was grinning, evidently pleased that the Saxons were intimidated enough to enlist a vast amount of warriors.
Even at this great distance, separated by hills and immense fog, he saw the Saxon leaders.
Æthelred did not wear a crown but then, he did not need to.
He was the point their army was focused on.
Birger heard he had sons but if they were on the field, they were not at his side.
At the battle at the monastery, there had been war cries, screams that sent chills to the average person.
Here there was nothing but silence.
Nothing until Leif, riding a stolen horse, turned and gave them a nod.
The Norse army split in two.
Birger looked back over his shoulder as they descended the hill towards the forest line.
The Saxons were confused.
The men they had mounted were riding back and forth in front of their lines, undecided on which group to follow.
Finally, they did precisely what Raul had hoped they would do and entered the opening left by the splitting army.
After this day, Raul's feats would no longer be behind the feats of his older brother.
His advice would be sought after and he would be viewed as a leader.
Birger ducked beneath a low hanging branch and entered the dark forest at the edge of the field.
The path opened up before them and Birger took off at a run, grinning.
Others began to sprint over the path and the underbrush.
It was miraculous that they kept quiet.
Through the trees, he could see the Saxon forces being pushed to the forest's edge by Herleif's group.
Birger laughed and began to run faster.
The wind lifted his braided hair and almost made his strapped bow to slide off.
Birger rushed over the shrubs and undergrowth of the forest, the only sound he could make out being the creaking of the old trees.
Others arrived beside him at the tree-line, their lungs aching and chest heaving.
Birger moved to the forefront, remarkably quiet for such a large man, and took up a bow he carried with him.
The fletching of an arrow kissing his cheek.
Everyone crowded around him, some crouching lower while others stretched themselves tall.
The Saxons were moving into their line of sight, up a slope onto the field.
The trees kept them so well covered that the English soldiers were taken totally by surprise when Birger released the first arrow.
His initial shot found its mark in the soft spot of a Saxon's armor at the neck.
The enemy dropped to his knees before falling face down.
In a brief time, Birger had shot off five more arrows, each one taking a Saxon either in the knee or in the shoulder.
He could hear the man groaning.
Eventually, after multiple casualties, the Saxons called for a shield wall.
Birger smirked at this.
It made archery far more simple for him to focus on the small holes in the wall or their uncovered shins.
He immediately angled his bow to the side and aimed for their legs.
Even with the added difficulty of trying to find a split between their shields, many of the English warriors still fell to his arrows.
While some of the others Norseman's arrows randomly hit critical spots.
Mostly only distracting the large groups.
When Herleif raised his arm, they stopped firing and retreated back into the trees, leaving the Saxons still in a shield wall.
They would be fools to follow them into the woods, where they felt much more comfortable than the Saxon forces.
Birger was running again.
He was in his element.
A horn sounded four times—the Jarl sending them the last signal.
The Saxons would be following him and his forces now, leaving enough time for Leif to take their places along the road to Repton.
This would be the ultimate test for Raul's plan.
If the Saxons did indeed make the decision to go after the ships, he would be hailed as a strategic genius.
Most of the men were getting out of breath when they arrived at the hills surrounding the path back to Repton.
They waited for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time before the Saxons began their march down the road.
For a moment, Birger tilted his head back and looked at the sky above, the sun failing to break through the gray clouds.
Raul was right.
He'd read the situation and the land they would fight on and bet on the correct course of action.
In some ways, even he could not believe how lucky that was.
Birger was drawing his bow down the line.
The silence was only interrupted by the Saxon horses snorting in the morning air.
Dagny nocked an arrow and let it on hold.
He then heard Leif's whistled and Birger let his arrow fly into an approaching man.
There, among the retreating English, the king turned, his horse pawing the ground anxiously, and looked up into the hills.
To see his eyes widen in shock was a remarkable moment.
More arrows flew and the Saxons eventually began to retreat.
This was the goal; to corral them onto a battlefield of the Norseman army's choosing.
They relinquished their bows and followed the Saxons, many of the raiders screaming and yelling, beating on their shields with newly drawn weapons.
Some of Leif and Raul's men joined them, their army now easily larger than the Saxon forces.
"Shield wall!" Leif yelled and raised his shield before him.
Birger and everyone else followed his order.
Birger looked to the two brothers for a bare moment and he gave them a nod.
If you did not trust who was beside you in the shield wall, you had nothing.
Birger angled his shield to give him just enough space to see the Saxons running towards them.
The English king gave a battle cry and raised his blade.
He rolled his shield to close the gap and drew his short sword.
In the next instant, their foot soldiers hit the wall.
The sound and the force of it was great.
Shock reverberated down Birger's shield arm.
He pushed back, so the enemies wouldn't break the wall.
Perhaps some of his fellow warriors couldn't resist the pressure but another readily took their place.
The weight on his arm was constant, to the point that it felt he was holding off the entire Saxon army.
Some Saxon swords had found their way through some gaps in the wall, the blades were running against the armor of the Norseman.
When one was about to reach him, he let out a shout and pushed his shield against the Saxon with all of his might.
The men around him gave him a short nod and their shields parted, just enough for Birger to stab his blade into the enemy soldier's throat.
Blood coursed through the wood of the shields, even as they locked back together.
The Saxon's body joined the others in front of the wall.
"Break!" someone commanded.
When the shield wall broke, Birger, Leif, and Raul would be among the first defenses.
If they didn't work together, a lot of men could be killed.
There was no more time to think.
The wall came apart and Norse raiders immediately became entangled with Saxons.
Birger lowered his shield arm a little, and placed his sword above it, waiting the perfect time for him to stab.
A soldier screamed and advanced towards them.
As if anticipating that, Birger ducked beside the charging enemy and Birger brought his sword up and across Saxon's vulnerable neck.
He hit the ground unceremoniously, his blood splattering everywhere.
It was only the beginning.
The Saxons were many and they spread out across the field.
It was one after another and very few of them seemed afraid, not in the manner that Leif had spoken about yesterday.
"All I see are people running away before us." Leif had said. "They are cowards."
Nothing about these men implied that cowardice was even a word they knew.
Birger's shield locked against the Saxon's.
The man was shorter than him and he met Saxons eyes beneath his dark helm.
The foe snarled, though his arm seemed desperately to give way, and his pupils widened.
The English jerked back and Birger lifted his shield just in time to bash at his wrist.
The critical strike made the man drop his sword, while Birger brought his sword up into the man's gut.
His blade instantly made its way through the Saxon's armor.
He fell to the muddy ground, though he wasn't dead.
Birger pulled his sword free and brought it down on his throat.
Leif was a few feet away, slashing at an enemy shield.
The Saxon held a short blade in his hand, not anything that would be useful unless Leif got close enough in range.
But he was slowly getting within arm's length.
Birger made his way to him, through the mud and the filth and the piles of bodies.
He pushed with his shield and the handle of his blade and finally, he was behind Leif's Saxon.
Birger sliced the tendons at the back of the man's legs and he let loose a scream.
It was cut short by a blow of Leif's axe.
He was in the midst of giving Birger a nod of thanks when Birger exclaimed. "Down!"
Leif dropped to his knees, no thought given to questioning it.
Above him, Birger threw his sword.
It caught a Saxon in that tender area where arm meets chest, a place armor rarely covers adequately.
Hit at the right angle, it could be a fast death.
Leif was up quickly and immediately raised his axe.
Leif and Birger turned their backs to each other and it was a clever thing because men were coming at them from all sides.
A Saxon slipped in the mud before Leif and took the end of his axe to his head, swiftly knocking him unconscious.
Another soldier was on him just as quickly and his weapon met his with a clang that it seemed remarkable to hear over the din of the battlefield.
He was taller than this Saxon or perhaps, the mud had not favored him the way it had him.
The Saxon still had his strength though and he managed to push him back until he was close to colliding with Birger.
His blade moved down his axe's hold slowly, the scrape of his swords an audible thing.
Leif feet slid in the mud until one leg was behind him and he was kneeling, groaning through gritted teeth.
The Saxon was gaining strength and he was standing taller now.
The foe had no helm so he could clearly see his short hair, his hooded eyes, the lines of his face.
He had some years on him, had perhaps been training to kill warriors all his life, and his visage would be the last thing Leif would see before he died.
He had wrestled him into the mud before Leif realized what was happening and finally, the weight of his sword left his axe.
He let himself fall back onto the blood and rain-soaked ground and immediately took up someone's shield to block the killing blow he knew was coming.
But it never landed.
Taking gasping breaths, he tilted the shield to the side in time for the Saxon's body to land at his feet, like an offering laid before a king.
Birger was standing above it, arms spread wide, grinning in a battle-crazed way.
His face was stained with gore and dirt but he was still unharmed.
Birger pulled him to his feet and instantly pushed him behind to take the force of a blow himself.
Leif again put his back to his.
Birger was busy, turning back and forth, knocking men down in quick succession.
He had saved his life and when this was done, Leif would owe him.
Leif knocked a warrior back with a push of his axe hold and brought it down upon the next one.
It felt like this went on for hours, endlessly blocking blows and hacking and slashing his axe.
But finally, he scanned the field and caught sight of Birger.
A soldier was coming up behind him but he was too preoccupied with the warriors he could see in front.
For a moment, he saw a giant friend dodge effortlessly, and finished the sneaky enemy, his blue eyes showing calmness.
They both turned at the sound of their remaining forces coming onto the field, headed by Herleif and Raul.
It sparked an immediate reaction in the remaining Saxons and soon there were calls for retreat from their leaders.
Many soldiers sprinted past them as if afraid they might take notice and kill them anyway.
Leif yelled beside Birger and raised his large axe in the air in triumph.
"You're not so bad, Birger." He said and then continued to shout, shaking his axe in the air again.
All around them, men were doing the same.
The battle was over, they'd won, and Birger was in a better mood than usual.
They maneuvered around fallen bodies and abandoned weapons to arrive before Herleif in his horse.
He appeared tall, regal, and when he pulled off his helm, the Norseman felt like he just became younger.
The younger brothers were still screaming and clapping each other on the shoulder when the Jarl began his speech.
After all, most of them were fine, the battle was done, and it did not seem likely that there would be another for some time.
———————————————————
Wessex's capital was surrounded with high wooden walls and framed in the thick fog of morning, it seemed otherworldly.
No sound came from behind those walls and Birger wondered if there was an actual possibility that the Saxons had simply abandoned the city.
After losing the battle at Repton, why wouldn't they want to retreat?
"It could be a trap." He said, up ahead of them.
He was mounted on a large white horse and his braid hung long down his chest.
Beside him, Herleif was smirking, his weapon already drawn.
The look on his face suggested he almost hoped it was a trap, just so that there would be more fighting.
Leif didn't share his feelings.
Repton was still fresh in his mind and he couldn't stop seeing the Saxon who'd almost killed him.
The gates to those grand walls opened before the Jarl's horse, as if they'd been made of feathers rather sturdy oak.
He and Leif headed in with the other raiders, bottlenecking through the gates.
Once inside, the warriors ran freely through the courtyard and immediately into the outcrop of buildings.
No one seemed to be in the city.
Raul had a chill and he couldn't justly say it was because of the threatening rain or the way the wind seemed to be harsher inside the walls.
This place seemed immensely important, even abandoned as it was.
There were buildings of stone, so worn and weather-beaten that they could only be the work of the illustrious Romans.
Raul thought they must have been giants, like those from Jotunheim, to have built things that lasted this long.
He didn't want the raiders to destroy them.
Still, as he walked closer to one, a soldier tossed a bowl laden with jewelry that had been left behind into the street before him.
It scattered the pieces into the dirt, necklaces, earrings, torques of gold.
He was amazed that anyone would have left these behind.
There was a hand at his shoulder and despite himself, Raul flinched.
It was only his father and he'd done it to move around him and pick up a necklace that was anchored by a milky white stone set in gold.
Plunder was the goal of a raid and he'd had no problem in Folke town seeing the longships return loaded with riches from lands far away.
This time, standing before the great stone house and knowing the people who'd lived there must have fled in a hurry, made the glory taste of ash.
It was a strange feeling he never felt before.
But he ignored it for now.
They would revel in taking it and everything else strewn on the ground.
"All right." He said and tucked some prices of jewelry into his belt, the weight heavy against his leg.
Herleif looked pleased but said nothing.
He pulled him through streets and alleys, all empty and quiet but for the yells of their own warriors.
Finally, they arrived before the grandest building of all, the one the Jarl said was the seat of their king.
It was also obviously Roman work.
The roof was the only part that didn't appear original.
It was patched over, poorly in some areas, but it took away nothing of the grandness.
There was no one inside when the Jarl pulled open the doors for them and led them in.
Raul had already been amazed by England and the ruins the Romans had left behind but being inside the Saxon palace was awe-inspiring.
Everywhere was stone and mosaic and after wandering around for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time, they stumbled upon a room at the center of the building; the bath house.
He'd already found such things before but seeing this particular place was entirely different.
It was just a pool of perfectly warm water, framed by Roman mosaics that showed naked men and women being pursued by half-human, half-goat creatures.
This room was a revelation.
It was permanently fixed in Raul's mind as proof of genius, as proof that England was something special.
Herleif appeared as enamored of it as he felt.
The Leif walked to the edge of the pool and stared down, unsure of its depth.
"Father, you've told me about this before." He said, kneeling and running a finger across the top of the murky water.
"Perhaps, there are monsters in it." Raul said jokingly.
Leif turned, still on his knees, and his lips formed a crooked smile.
"Maybe I'll throw you in and we'll find out."
He laughed and backed away when his brother came towards him.
"You throw me in and I will take you with me." Raul replied.
Leif met his eyes, his expression suddenly sinister and mischievous.
But he let go.
They moved on from the bathing pool, passing into other abandoned corridors and cellars below the fortress that had been emptied.
There was the sound of glass breaking as they entered a new hallway and Raul flinched immediately.
Some of the raiders stumbled into the hall before them and Raul gave a relieved sigh.
But the silence was now over.
Birger was arguing with some of the other raiders.
Raul wasn't sure what the purpose of the chamber they were supposed to be, but there were shelves upon shelves of capped scrolls and immediately, he felt interested in them.
A warrior had pulled one out and it unfurled, its end nearing the man's knees.
It was covered in furling script, nothing like the runes Raul'd seen before, and there was gold, blue, and red paint on each side.
"Wait!" Birger exclaimed, hand outstretched. "The Jarl has agreed to my request of preserving this place."
The raider had wanted to light it on fire.
Across the room, a writing desk was spared from being split by an axe after Birger's words.
Raul saw himself relieved that his father had made that decision.
What was the point of destroying these things just because they were Saxon creations?
There was value in learning about what was important to them, if only to understand them.
At any rate, they had seen neither hide nor hair of anyone inside the city's walls.
Perhaps they did not plan on returning and a fortress for their army to commandeer for their own was an excellent strategy.
Raul did not understand the point of ruin, of damage simply because they were the winning side.
"Do you want the scrolls?" Leif asked, moving past him.
He ordered several scrolls from the shelves to be piled and relocated to another room.
In the end, the city was only pillaged of its riches. Everything else was to be kept preserved until the Jarl ordered otherwise.
Raul couldn't decipher anything about the scrolls he found, he couldn't read the words.
He was unsure if these writings were even of importance.
Maybe when the Saxons evacuated, they took anything they valued with them and what they left was worthless.
But they looked so expensive that Raul knew they were special.
He couldn't imagine the time spent on them, how long it must have taken to create the images in the side panels or to write the words.
He followed Leif and Birger along a dark hall and finally, there was a shut door.
The rest of the palace was open, doors hanging wide, seeming to invite them in.
This one was bolted shut.
Birger set to prying it open, his bare hands wedging beneath the lock, and it gave way.
There was a woman inside.
Raul thought she must be one of those Christian priestesses that his father had told him about because she was dressed in a pure white robe.
He didn't know, but assumed how difficult it was to keep something like that pristine so perhaps she was well off enough to have a steady supply of them.
Around her neck was a long embroidered piece of red fabric that was close to grazing the floor.
In her outstretched hand was a solid gold cross, inlaid with stones of blue and green.
He'd never seen anything like it.
The woman had been murmuring under her breath when they came in but now she began to shout, gesturing at them wildly with the crucifix.
Birger gestured for everyone to get back, and began to share some words with the foreign woman.
Was he speaking her language? How?
The woman's expression suddenly changed.
She lowered her golden cross and tears fell from her eyes.
Some of the raiders laughed, and after seeing that room hold no riches, they set off somewhere else.
It took time for the priestess to calm down, time in which the raiders began their work.
She was still muttering prayers to the Christian god in her immaculate white robe.
But she somehow had just accepted her nation's defeat.
The priestess very well may have desired to kill them all before, so far, she was the lone person in the city and to Raul's mind, that meant she was brave.
Beside him, Birger set the crucifix into his belt.
He wondered why his friend managed to convince the priestess to give him willingly.
Birger was becoming more mysterious to him.
Considering the raiders' resounding victory, their brutality... their looting.
To most vikings there was the idea that this was completely natural.
Indeed, it was the goal of the raid and it would serve to dishearten other Saxons from attempting to fight or draw the ire of their army.
Raul followed Birger into the courtyard, past warriors pulling down English jewelry and storing them into chests, past men pulling crates of supplies.
The gates to the city stood wide and Herleif was in the center of the yard.
He was leaning on his horse saddle, watching the raiders loot.
There was a light in his eyes that one could see even at a distance.
The raiders fell silent and parted before the Jarl's horse.
Raul and Leif followed suit.
Soon it became apparent that the way had been cleared for another Saxon who had remained behind.
He was an older man with long bedraggled hair and he was clothed in a dressing robe.
He wasn't wearing any shoes.
For a moment, Raul assumed that the priestess and he must have been mad and the Saxons had just decided to leave them behind but as the man got closer, poked and prodded forward by spears and blunt swords, she knew he was important.
Not even someone mad would be smiling at this situation and he was looking at Birger as if he was an old friend.
Leif turned to Raul, alarming him.
"It's Æthelred." He murmured.
Æthelred had remained in the city after all, fate accepted.
The English king evidently understood his name being said even in another language and he turned to the brothers.
The Jarl raised a hand and the raiders released the defeated king.
He moved forwards.
The king touched the caps of the scrolls he had with him.
He unfurled it, exposing the glory of the paints and the pictures and the words.
Some of the raiders looked on, eyes narrowed in anger.
Raul barely registered it.
Ecbert said something, eager, and stored the scroll again.
He said something else.
"What did he say?" Raul asked, smiling to match the king, believing that this was something special.
"He said that by the glory of his god, he surrenders." Announced Birger.
The king grinned up at him, again like he was being reunited with his greatest friend. "And he said that he wishes to make a surrender treaty with us."
The king turned back for the briefest moment and nodded.
"This man is King Æthelred. I request we spare him my Jarl." Birger said loudly, as several raiders still appeared ready to disagree with him.
Leif was looking at him, rage threatening to boil over from within.
"You like the old Saxon king?" He asked, teasing.
"I respect him." He replied. "Any ruler that stands at his own land after defeat while the rest of his people leave, is someone that deserves my respect."
And so the raiders continued their open discussion.
But in the end, the Jarl was convinced by Birger's arguments.
And so negotiations began.
———————————————————
(30/08/2020)
*Hope this chapter is of your liking. Anything you wish to ask, feel free to do so.
I'm almost finished writing an update chapter. In that auxiliary chapter, I plan to address some of the complaints that I've been receiving.
Thanks as always for your attention and please be safe.
Any problems with my writing, just point them out and I will correct them as soon as possible.
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