The Fighting Man. Adrian Deans

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      Carl was white-faced and Valla simmered with her usual rage.

      ‘Why were you not watching?’ she demanded.

      ‘Peace!’ insisted the soldier, and we fell silent. The mist still swirled and the forest was quiet, but a brooding sense of anticipation was strong in the air and I simply couldn’t sit still. I stood, but the soldier ignored me as he leant on a spear and peered into the mist. A horn rang out again to the right, answered by another to the left, and then someone was running towards us. Almost unconsciously, I drew once again my sword to face whatever was coming.

      Then there was a pounding through the bracken and a wild man flew out of the mist, swerved away from the soldier and straight onto my sword. He managed to avoid the point but was forced to stop and the butt of the spear took him in the back of the head. Then there was a scream as he crumpled to the ground and a woman ran to his body, glaring at the soldier and snarling at me.

      She looked remarkably like Valla, or at least was dressed in a similar panoply of skins and rags. But Valla was clean, whereas this woman was covered in dirt and her hair hung like filthy tangled cords. Her man also was filthy – very thin, with lank, red hair and snaggled teeth. He had a red rag tied around his upper arm, wet with fresh blood, and I knew immediately that his wound had been caused in the night by my sword. In all likelihood, this was the Rocker who had tried to kill me in my sleep.

      The horns blew again much closer, and there was shouting and laughter. More shapes emerged from the thinning mist but moving slowly – defeated. There were six more of the Rockers – four men and two women – herded by the soldiers into the clearing and forced down onto their knees – snarling, spitting and swearing at their captors, until the man who looked like the brother of the leader kicked one of them in the face, and they fell silent – awaiting their doom.

      The leader now swung back a cloak to reveal a strange device – a grinning warrior with a raised sword, legs bent into an angular position for the sake of a pattern, which had a Viking look to it.

      ‘You have been warned,’ he declaimed. ‘You have been told to leave my domain or know my justice.’

      The man with the red rag suddenly groaned and his face twisted with pain. The woman stroked his brow with such tenderness that I actually felt a flash of envy – remembering suddenly the loss of my own family.

      ‘Now you have a final chance,’ continued the man, who seemed to be claiming my woods for himself. ‘Will you serve or die?’

      He seemed to be offering them serfdom or death, and one of the men stood and spat at the ground at the leader’s feet. Without another word, the leader’s brother swept the man’s head half off his shoulders and all in the clearing were sprayed with hot blood which continued to pump like a stuck boar in a shambles as the women screamed and the men stared.

      ‘Will you serve?’ repeated the leader, uncaring of the horror at his feet, and all the rest hung their heads in submission, save the wounded snaggle-tooth who lay still on the ground – and his woman staring at Valla. She muttered something to the others and they all glanced up in fear, and a couple crossed themselves while others made the sign against the evil eye.

      The leader of the armed men looked at Valla with sudden interest.

      ∞ ∞ ∞

      ‘Call me Harold,’ said the leader. ‘And this lout is my brother, Tostig.’

      The three of us walked at the back of the procession towards a town with the name Theodford. The Rockers were all bound together at the neck, save the snaggle-tooth who was carried on a rough stretcher of boughs and rags.

      I told Harold and Tostig my story, at which they swore and exclaimed with anger at all the appropriate points and I found myself warming to them (despite being yet wary of their violence).

      ‘I knew Holgar,’ said Harold. ‘Not well … but I’ve not spent much time at home in East Anglia since the king saw fit to promote me to Wessex.’

      ‘East Anglia?’ I echoed in confusion, and Tostig laughed.

      ‘You’re in the presence of your lord, fool!’

      ‘My lord?’

      Harold slapped me over the shoulder and laughed himself.

      ‘Our brother Gyrth is your lord … but Gyrth is with the king. Tostig is Earl of Northumbria. And I, by the grace of King Edward, am Earl of Wessex, but I own many hides yet in East Anglia … which I suppose makes you my tenant and vassal Brand Holgarsson … thegn of Stybbor.’

      Such was the confidence I felt in this stranger – and such was the sudden overwhelming sense of acceptance and welcome – that I fell to my knees and blinked at him through tears of relief and adoration.

      ‘My Lord! Please accept—’

      ‘Get up you idiot!’ roared Tostig, and all in the procession turned to stare at us. Even the serfs seemed to be laughing.

      ‘Nay,’ smiled Harold, ‘offers of love and fealty are solemn matters and not to be taken lightly. Do you offer your fealty Brand?’

      ‘I do Lord … gladly.’

      ‘Then rise … and my first command is that you tell me about the woman in your party.’

      ‘Valla?’

      I was surprised, and strangely disturbed by the question, but before I could answer, Valla ten paces ahead of us turned and said, ‘I am Brand’s wife, Lord.’

      If I was surprised by Harold’s question, I was stunned by Valla’s response – Valla who had scorned and insulted me at every turn.

      ‘So,’ said Harold, giving me a queer look. ‘You are young to be married. Is she a Christian wife or Danish?’

      ‘Wife more danico,’ said Carl, also turning to join the conversation.

      ‘Your bride dresses strangely for the wife of a thegn,’ remarked Tostig.

      ‘He has only recently become thegn,’ reminded Valla, ‘in unexpected and desperate circumstances.’

      ‘There is that,’ agreed Harold.

      ‘And there was no opportunity to dress properly when we took flight … was there husband.’

      Valla stared at me most pointedly and, in my confusion, I just nodded – aware that she must have some powerful reason for the lie.

      ‘Well, married then,’ said Harold, cheerfully. ‘Good thing you told us before Tostig swept her off to his own bed.’

      ∞ ∞ ∞

      I was still more than a little bewildered, some time later, when I managed to fall in step with my ‘wife’ out of earshot from the others.

      ‘Well, well … it looks as though my visions of you lying naked beneath me are coming true after all.’

      ‘I believe you owe me your life,’ hissed Valla. ‘Not to mention your ring … of office.’

      ‘Why СКАЧАТЬ