Page 32 of A Kingdom to Claim

Chapter 31

King Alfred and his thegns sat around the campfire. All around them, the hillside was dotted with other fires, each surrounded by men who had come to join the Saxon army. Every one of the counties was represented, most by many hundreds of men. Brecc felt a surge of gratitude for their loyalty.

The journey from Athelney had been long, but the closer they’d come to Egbert’s Stone, the busier the roads had become. Men of every walk of life had answered the monarch’s call, and when they’d recognized him, they’d cheered as though they’d come to attend a carnival rather than fight to the death. But there was no question that they knew it now. As darkness had descended and the campfires had been lit, a somber camaraderie had fallen upon the gathering of almost five thousand. Voices carried on the light breeze. They were unusually subdued.

At this campfire, King Alfred was listening to reports from the thegns who had wandered the hillside, discovering the origin of each fyrd, assessing the weaponry they’d brought with them, determining the caliber of the local leadership.

“Nyle, the fishmonger, is here,” Rheged said. He was seated to the right of Brecc, with Aisley in between them. “The fyrd from Wiltshire is large and strong.”

Under the cover of darkness, Brecc reached for Aisley’s hand. It was cold, but the moment he touched it, her fingers curled around his. She had to be exhausted, but she’d not offered a single complaint since she’d stepped onto the punt early this morning. She’d ridden beside him the entire journey, keeping her hood up and her head lowered whenever they’d encountered others on the road. Her hood had remained up since they’d arrived at camp. There were too many men wandering the area, and as Rheged had just reported, many of them were from Wiltshire.

Brecc squeezed her hand gently, knowing how pleased she would be by Rheged’s report.

“How many of them are seasoned warriors?” the king asked.

“Not so many as we would like, to be sure,” Rheged replied, “but what they lack in experience, they make up for in passion. The young men of Wiltshire are here to win back their king’s crown.”

The king’s smile was fleeting. “We shall need that kind of determination if we are to win. I shall make a point to visit the men of the Wiltshire fyrd before we go to battle.” He turned to Bertwin. “What of the Dorset fyrd?”

Bertwin began to reply, and Brecc felt Aisley shift a little nearer.

“Do we know where the battle will take place yet?” she whispered.

“Not to my knowledge.” Brecc kept his voice low so as not to interrupt the conversation going on on the other side of the campfire. “By now, our element of surprise is over. It is impossible for this number of men to gather from every corner of Wessex without drawing the attention of Guthrum’s spies. On the morrow, we will likely hear that the Vikings are on the move. The king plans to continue north toward Guthrum’s stronghold in Chippenham, but if Guthrum comes to meet him, the battle could occur anywhere along our route.”

She shivered, and Brecc caught himself just before he raised his arm to draw her closer. For the duration, she was his page. And now that so many others had joined them, for her safety’s sake, he’d best remember it.

“After all this time, the battle for Wessex’s future is truly upon us,” she said.

“Aye.” He listened. Beyond the crackle of fires and murmur of low voices, the night was still. “As hard as it is to picture when all is so calm, if the Vikings have mobilized, the confrontation is merely a day away.”

“I am glad I am here with you for these last few peaceful hours.”

He tightened his grip on her hand again. She did not belong here. Nor was she safe. And yet, he could not deny that he felt the same.

The king’s scouts galloped toward them. At the head of the company, King Alfred raised his arm. Those on horseback at the front stopped, and the steady forward progression of thousands of marching warriors came to an unexpected halt. Aisley glanced at Brecc. He was watching the scouts with fierce intensity. One of them was gesturing to the ruined fortress sitting atop the hill ahead. The king responded by signaling for Brecc, Rheged, and Odda to join him.

“Wait here,” Brecc said, touching his heels to his mount. “This should not take long.”

Aisley waited. Those around her waited. And the tension mounted. The king, his men, and the scouts spoke together for a short time, and then the scouts wheeled their horses around and started back the way they had come. Brecc resumed his place beside her, and the king raised his arm again. They were on the move once more.

“What was it?” Aisley asked.

“Guthrum,” Brecc answered. “When he heard the king was marching at the head of an army, he rallied his men and set off from Chippenham. They’ve made their base at Bratton Camp.”

“Is that the name of the ancient fortress on the hill?”

“Aye.” Brecc studied the distant structure. “It’s a strategic position. You see how it sits on the northern edge of a long, flat ridgeline. On three sides, the slopes are too steep for us to mount an attack. That leaves us with only the southern side. Guthrum can consolidate his men in one area, knowing that we can breach their defenses only from that direction.”

Aisley’s stomach twisted. “What is to be done?”

“We meet them there,” Brecc said. “Guthrum’s scouts will have told him of our approach, so he is likely already setting up his shield wall.”

Panic clawed at Aisley’s throat. How could Brecc be so calm? The Vikings were here. They were waiting to attack. “I ... I do not understand. If they are already in position, how do we—”

“The men will know what to do. Each warrior, regardless of his prior battle experience, has been told what is expected of him.” He looked at her, a flicker of unease in his eyes. “As have you.”

Aisley had not encountered Vikings since some of them stopped the merchants she was traveling with on route to Athelney. That interaction had been distressing, but the thought of witnessing thousands of bloodthirsty warriors filled her with abject terror. She had no desire to be anywhere near them. “Where would you have me wait?”

He pointed to a wooded area on the west side of the hill. “The king wishes us to leave our mounts there. We will approach the camp in formation from the south side.”

At which point, the Vikings in all their ferocity would pour down upon them. On the reins, Aisley’s fingers trembled. She could not think on it. It was too awful.

Under two furlongs later, they reached the woodland. The trees stretched out as far as the eye could see. Patches of grass showed between some of the branches, and the ground was littered with twigs, pine needles, and new growth. Overhead, birds sang, blissfully unaware of what was soon to come. At a signal from the king, the thegns dismounted.

“Secure your horses,” he called. “As soon as the fyrds are assembled, we lead them into battle.”

Brecc led his mount between two large ash trees. Without a word, Aisley followed, her horse in tow. All around them, others were making for the small grassy patches inside the woodland. A boulder lay ahead, partially covered by the long, tangled branches of a bramble bush beside it. Brecc veered right and entered the clearing surrounded by trees beyond. He tied his horse’s straps around a low-lying tree limb and then reached for Aisley’s horse’s reins.

“If you remain in this vicinity, the boulder will lead me back to you. It will also serve as a marker for the wounded seeking your aid.” He gathered the spears he’d strapped to his horse.

“Very well.” Silently praying for whatever measure of courage she lacked, Aisley slid her satchel off her shoulder and set it beside the boulder. She dreaded staying behind in the woodland alone, but she knew it was what she must do if she truly wished to assist King Alfred and his men. “I shall be ready when the injured come.” She swallowed. “And I shall remain here until you return.”

He turned then and met her eyes. The air between them stilled, and the background noise of men and horses and weaponry faded to nothingness. Slowly, Brecc set his spears against a tree trunk. Then in four long steps, he crossed the distance that separated them and pulled her into his arms. “I will come for you.” Emotion shone in his dark eyes. “I give you my word.”

She leaned into him, her eyes not leaving his. “I love you,” she said.

His groan was so soft she barely heard it before he was kissing her—desperately, fervently, deeply—unleashing a maelstrom of shared hopes, fears, and love that sent her mind spinning. She clung to him, drawing from him a strength she had not known she needed, and giving whatever comfort she could offer in return.

A horn sounded, and he drew back. “I must go.”

With trembling limbs, Aisley stepped out of his arms. “My prayers go with you.”

He reached for his spears. “As mine are with you.” And then he was gone, racing between the trees toward the waiting men.

The Vikings’ chilling call to battle grew louder as the Saxon shield wall advanced up the hill. Like an ominous heartbeat, hundreds of spears beat out a steady rhythm against the Vikings’ wooden shields. Their screaming taunts and jeers rent the air, urging the men of Wessex to return to their hovels, to walk away from their incompetent king, and to drop their weapons rather than be slaughtered.

With their shoulders pressed together so tightly that they moved as one, the Saxons pressed on. Flexing his fingers, Brecc reset his grip on the handle of his shield and kept his eyes on the line of Viking warriors ahead. Sunlight glistened off their helmets and shield bosses. And behind them were more rows of warriors waiting to take their place. It was a formidable sight. But no more so than the enormous wave of Saxons now advancing upon them.

“Hold the wall, men!” The king’s voice rose above the Norse chants. “The invaders have yet to discover our greatest strength. They cannot defeat us if we remain united.”

They were within forty paces of each other now, and Brecc could hear the clank of the Norsemen’s chain mail over the thud of marching feet.

“The time is right, Sire.” Rheged’s muttered words were likely not meant to be overheard, but Brecc acknowledged them with the tightening of his jaw.

An instant later, the king’s voice rang out again. “Fire.”

From three rows back, men launched their spears over the heads of their comrades. The Vikings released a similar volley. In a trice, the sky was darkened. Hundreds of spears blocked the sun. Brecc glanced upward. It was impossible to make out the trajectory of any one spear, but even if it were flying directly toward him, there was nothing he could do to protect himself. He was pinned so tightly between Rheged and Odda that there was no room to sidestep. And not even his shield could protect him from a barb coming at him from that height.

Suddenly, the Viking spears were incoming. A scream from Brecc’s right confirmed a hit. With a thud, a spear entered the ground two paces before him, but they kept advancing. More screams. The clang of metal and the judder of movement in the line. Brecc kept his eyes forward, praying that the holes in the shield wall were being filled by those standing immediately behind them.

Another spear entered his peripheral vision. It was close. Too close. Brecc braced himself. The impact reverberated through his arms, but he felt no pain. Odda let out a frustrated cry. Brecc glanced to his right. A spear had pierced the man’s shield. A six-foot-long shaft was projecting from the front, rendering the shield completely unwieldy and compromising the wall. There was nothing Odda could do. Releasing his hold on the shield, it fell to the ground, and he stepped back. Instantly, the man marching behind him moved forward, locked arms with Brecc, and set his shield over the hole Odda’s damaged one had created.

Shifting his shoulder into position against his new companion’s, Brecc hazarded a glance at the man’s profile. He did not know him. Odda would take a spot in one of the lower ranks and would be an asset with his ax. For his part, Brecc could only hope that Odda’s replacement in the shield wall was equally dependable.

The Viking shield wall was perilously close now. Someone released a blood-curdling shout, and while yelling pagan invocations to Odin, the Norsemen surged forward.

“For Wessex and our God,” King Alfred shouted. “For our homes and families. Hold the line!”

And then with a horrific cracking of wood, the shield walls met. Linked as one, the Saxons pushed. Behind them, men holding longer spears drove them through the tiny gaps between the front line, aiming for arms, legs, necks, and shoulders. Viking ax blades flashed, slashing at heads. Cries of agony filled the air. The shield wall quaked but held. Quaked again.

Braced against his shield, Brecc continued to push. Immediately before him, a Viking warrior snarled with frustration, raising his ax even as he attempted to hold fast to his own shield. Brecc shifted his head a fraction to the right, praying the man behind him was alert to the danger. He was. A Saxon spear entered the newly formed gap with sufficient momentum to pierce the Viking’s arm. He howled with rage, dropping the ax as he struggled to pull out the barbed head. He fell to his knees. Instantly, an ax sailed into the air over Brecc’s shoulder, aimed at the Viking who was to take the fallen man’s place. The ensuing scream manifested that it had hit its mark.

The Saxon line inched forward again. All around them, fallen men and their blood littered the ground.

“Stay true, men of Wessex!” The king’s rallying call came again.

With a grunt of pain, Rheged jerked left.

“Rheged?” Brecc cried.

“My arm.” He staggered, struggling to hold his ground. “For the good of the shield wall, I must retreat.”

The next moment, the pressure of Rheged’s shoulder against Brecc’s eased. And then he was gone, and a fresh warrior took his place.

The birdsong had ceased hours ago. The only noises in the woodland now were the rustle of the breeze through the trees, the nervous nickers and agitated shuffling of the horses, and the sounds of war.

At first, the distant clanging of weapons and screams of agony had reduced Aisley to tears. No attempt at covering her ears had helped. Eventually, she’d had no tears left to spill, and she’d been left feeling empty and horribly alone. Too anxious to sleep and too nauseated to eat, she’d wandered the woodland, talking to the horses.

Many of them she recognized from her time at Athelney. With each of those, she’d spent a little extra time, rubbing their noses and talking to them of their peaceful enclosure on the island. It had not been long, however, before she had run out of horses to visit. She glanced at the sky. The afternoon was wearing on. How much longer would this harrowing battle—this agonizing day—go on?

She passed a young oak tree and spotted Rheged’s horse.

“Well now, my friend,” she said, running her hand down Bracken’s neck. “I am happy to see you.” The mare nuzzled Aisley’s arm even as more cries of anguish reached them from the hillside. Aisley lay her cheek on the horse’s neck and closed her raw eyes. “I was a fool for coming, Bracken. I sincerely thought that I was strong enough for this, that I could truly help. But instead, I find myself scarcely able to think above the sounds of suffering all around me.”

Bracken nudged her arm again. Aisley raised her head and managed a weak smile. “I am to wait. Is that what you are telling me?” She sighed. “Other than prayer, I believe that is the only option left to me.” She ran her hand down the mare’s long neck once more. “I should return to the boulder and my bandages. There is little enough that I can do to prepare my heart for what may come, but I can at least have my supplies ready.”