left hip, a round willow-plank shield faced with leather, boiled leather breastplate, and conical leather helmet with a stitched ridge and henna-dyed plume of horse hair. He had a heavy fur cloak thrown back to leave his arms free, arms that were bare and adorned with a dozen silver rings.
He wore more rings, iron ones, on most of his fingers and a slender, horn-handled, leaf-shaped dagger on his right side. It was, I noted a seax, single-bladed and used by the Saxons who took their name from it as a tool as well as a weapon. In his hand he hefted an ash pole javelin with a long iron spearhead. I noted with some surprise that the lead-weighted head was fastened to the shaft with a small wooden peg that would break on impact.
That was a Roman device designed to prevent the spear being made useless after impact. It could not then be thrown back. This Saxon with his Roman short sword and Roman spear was no war novice.
I rode closer, looked down at him and said: ”My name is Arthur. This is my country. You have no right to be here. Leave.”
He looked steadily at me. “I am Guthric,” he said. “This is a fine place and I shall enjoy it. Stand aside or I shall kill you and your men.”
“That,” I said, “is a proud boast, but it is an empty one. Get back in your ships, leave the prisoners and your loot and I may spare your lives.” It was the usual conversation before battle, and it served its usual purpose, which was none. The Saxon was not about to retreat, nor was I. What was really happening was that I was buying time, giving Grimr and his ships time to get here so we could kill or enslave these invaders. Kill, preferably, I thought.
The Saxon scratched at his beard and looked again at the line of horsemen behind me. “You don’t really think you can stop us with that weak force?” he asked. “Or do you have more troops elsewhere and you’re hoping to keep us talking for days until they arrive? I’m done with you.” He turned and strode back to his shield wall, which was now several ranks deep. I saw him point his spear at two of his men, probably officers, and gesture them to him. I glanced down river. No sign of Grimr. The situation was crumbling. We’d lost the surprise element, our longship crews would be at a disadvantage as they debarked from their vessels, the water meadow was unsuitable for cavalry… This could be a costly victory.
We backed our horses to the edge of the firmer ground, we were then about 200 paces from the Saxon line. “Hold here,” I said. My thought was that if they advanced, we’d crash through their line and hopefully have enough room to turn, gain speed and crash back through again. If we did enough damage, they might not pursue us, and we could take them on properly when the British crews arrived.
A movement caught my eye and I turned to see a horseman galloping to join us, it was one of the troopers I’d sent to report to Grimr. “He’ll be here in about an hour, lord,” he gasped as he hauled up his sweating, foam-flecked horse. “I told him the situation and he said he’d march his men, not sail them. They’re about four miles away.” I nodded. “Good,” I said, wondering how to stall the Saxons for an hour. Over in front of the shield wall, one of them was walking up and down in the no man’s land, waving his battle axe and shouting.
I understood the Saxon tongue, and his shouts. He was challenging our champion to come and fight him. Inside me, a small voice was saying: ”Your poor judgement in lying up so close got us into this. Now get us out of it.” Almost without my volition, I was nudging Corvus forward and moments later, I was looking down at the big blond Saxon champion. I spat full in his face, drove my spear into the ground, turned Corvus away and dismounted.
IX - Boartooth
I dropped my red sagum, the hooded, oiled-wool officer’s cloak that could one day, not this, I hoped, be my burial shroud, to the ground. For reassurance, I
He wore more rings, iron ones, on most of his fingers and a slender, horn-handled, leaf-shaped dagger on his right side. It was, I noted a seax, single-bladed and used by the Saxons who took their name from it as a tool as well as a weapon. In his hand he hefted an ash pole javelin with a long iron spearhead. I noted with some surprise that the lead-weighted head was fastened to the shaft with a small wooden peg that would break on impact.
That was a Roman device designed to prevent the spear being made useless after impact. It could not then be thrown back. This Saxon with his Roman short sword and Roman spear was no war novice.
I rode closer, looked down at him and said: ”My name is Arthur. This is my country. You have no right to be here. Leave.”
He looked steadily at me. “I am Guthric,” he said. “This is a fine place and I shall enjoy it. Stand aside or I shall kill you and your men.”
“That,” I said, “is a proud boast, but it is an empty one. Get back in your ships, leave the prisoners and your loot and I may spare your lives.” It was the usual conversation before battle, and it served its usual purpose, which was none. The Saxon was not about to retreat, nor was I. What was really happening was that I was buying time, giving Grimr and his ships time to get here so we could kill or enslave these invaders. Kill, preferably, I thought.
The Saxon scratched at his beard and looked again at the line of horsemen behind me. “You don’t really think you can stop us with that weak force?” he asked. “Or do you have more troops elsewhere and you’re hoping to keep us talking for days until they arrive? I’m done with you.” He turned and strode back to his shield wall, which was now several ranks deep. I saw him point his spear at two of his men, probably officers, and gesture them to him. I glanced down river. No sign of Grimr. The situation was crumbling. We’d lost the surprise element, our longship crews would be at a disadvantage as they debarked from their vessels, the water meadow was unsuitable for cavalry… This could be a costly victory.
We backed our horses to the edge of the firmer ground, we were then about 200 paces from the Saxon line. “Hold here,” I said. My thought was that if they advanced, we’d crash through their line and hopefully have enough room to turn, gain speed and crash back through again. If we did enough damage, they might not pursue us, and we could take them on properly when the British crews arrived.
A movement caught my eye and I turned to see a horseman galloping to join us, it was one of the troopers I’d sent to report to Grimr. “He’ll be here in about an hour, lord,” he gasped as he hauled up his sweating, foam-flecked horse. “I told him the situation and he said he’d march his men, not sail them. They’re about four miles away.” I nodded. “Good,” I said, wondering how to stall the Saxons for an hour. Over in front of the shield wall, one of them was walking up and down in the no man’s land, waving his battle axe and shouting.
I understood the Saxon tongue, and his shouts. He was challenging our champion to come and fight him. Inside me, a small voice was saying: ”Your poor judgement in lying up so close got us into this. Now get us out of it.” Almost without my volition, I was nudging Corvus forward and moments later, I was looking down at the big blond Saxon champion. I spat full in his face, drove my spear into the ground, turned Corvus away and dismounted.
IX - Boartooth
I dropped my red sagum, the hooded, oiled-wool officer’s cloak that could one day, not this, I hoped, be my burial shroud, to the ground. For reassurance, I
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