Wolves in Armour nc-1 Read online

  “You all know the penalties for foreigners caught raiding?” said Alan abruptly to the group of chiefs, who were sitting together. All three of the principal chiefs had perished in the fighting that morning. “The rich ones are offered the opportunity for ransom. The poor are either hung or sold as slaves. None of you look wealthy enough to bother ransoming. But you did surrender when I offered you terms, so I’m prepared to be generous if you do what I say. Eight ships sailed south-east along the coast several hours ago, four long-boats and four captured cogs. What were they carrying and where were they going?”

  It took several minutes to sort out the answers. Where was quickly resolved- they were to wait for the other ships near Brightlingsea. No attack was to be made by them as they carried virtually no warriors, being packed with captives and loot plundered, including much of the contents of the warehouses by the wharf at Colchester.

  It transpired that just what the ships carried nobody really knew, as items had been seized and stuffed into the ships indiscriminately. They would not be expecting the attackers of Wivenhoe until at least the next day as the attackers had anticipated taking their time enjoying what they could in the village and had not expected to be in any condition to sail until mid-day the next day at the earliest.

  Instructing Hugh to maintain a close guard on the prisoners, Alan walked back towards the village, where those Englishmen who were not guarding the prisoners had gathered. Walking back through the field of death, when he reached the place where the Wildfire had landed Alan was sickened by what he saw and smelt.

  Lying on large patches of burnt, charred grass were the horribly burnt remains of hundreds of men. Some had been totally incinerated, with little more than piles of ashes. Others were seared so that, while they still retained human form, their features and most of their flesh had been burnt away. Still others appeared largely intact but had died from having legs or arms burnt away. Many of the bodies continued to smoulder, filling the air with the stench of burnt flesh. Swords and helmets lay twisted and distorted by the heat.

  Tears of anguish were running down Alan’s face as he walked into the village and saw a group of Danish injured, many with horrible burns, sitting and largely being ignored by the English. Beside the small wooden church was a line of English dead, with the local priest Father Ator on his knees half way down the line, providing last rites to the dead. Alan counted 47, mainly wearing the rough clothing of cheorls and peasants.

  Alan saw Anne sitting on the ground with a group of women and children who had been rescued. As he approached he was embarrassed as many, clearly recognising his air of authority and quality of equipment, stood to kiss his hand in appreciation. Time and time again he asked them to sit. Anne and another woman helped him out of his hauberk, struggling with its forty-pound weight. Underneath his gambeson and tunic were soaked with sweat and he stank.

  He sat tiredly on the ground and wiped his face with a wet cloth that one of the women in the group brought him. “My God that was terrible! I’ll never be able to do that again. May God forgive what I have done! I never thought that the consequences would be like that. What can we do to help the badly burned Danes?”

  “Nothing!” said Anne fiercely. “Do nothing! It is God’s punishment for what they have done! Let them all die as slowly and as painfully as possible. Listen now.” She had the rescued English tell their stories of the attacks on Mile End, Dayneland, Beer Church, Fingringhoe and other smaller settlements. The attacks were made without warning, the men who tried to resist cut down without a moment’s hesitation. Wanton murder and rape. Women were now widows, children orphans who had seen both parents killed, elder sisters as young as eight repeatedly raped and then their throats cut. Torture and every kind of wickedness. One of the pagan Danish leaders, killed in the fires that morning, had proclaimed himself in league with the Devil and had impaled every thegn or person of nobility to die a slow death while their womenfolk and children were raped and killed in front of them. Many of the women and children sat in shock, staring into the distance and rocking back and forth. The women and children of Wivenhoe did what they could to give comfort, holding and cuddling children, holding the hands of women and wiping away their tears.

  Feeling humbled and ashamed of his own self-centeredness Alan walked over to the much smaller group of rescued young men. Again, most were in shock, many having witnessed the death of close family members- parents, spouses, children, brothers and sisters. Almost all blamed themselves for not doing more and were ashamed of their own survival. In their own rough way the village menfolk were trying to help by listening to the stories, sympathizing and using the universal panacea of alcohol, in the form of strong mead and cider.

  Alan instructed Baldwin to make sure that sufficient men stayed sober to take over guard duty every six hours, and that the fighting men stayed reasonably sober as most would be marching next day. He then went to the barns where the injured English had been placed and the women had done what they could to make them comfortable. Later, numb with exhaustion, he accepted Anne’s offer of hospitality at her Hall. He fell asleep sitting up at the table with a half-finished cup of wine in his hand. He woke to find himself washed, in clean clothes and lying on the bed in the main bedchamber. By himself.

  After wearily rubbing his eyes he pulled on his boots and entered the Hall. Most of the thegns were presently sitting at the head table quietly quaffing ale. Several had bandages around arms and heads. Edwold had his arm in a sling.

  There was no euphoria at the victory and the mood could best be described as quiet satisfaction. Too many on both sides had died and Alan could sense an undertone of dissatisfaction at the use of the Wildfire, despite its central part in the victory. It was felt too modern and unprofessional. Alric expressed it all for them as Alan sat down and took a pint of ale and a slice of cold meat pie. “So that’s the future of warfare, hey? Perhaps it’s time for me to retire and sit in front of my fire and leave this sort of thing to you more educated men.”

  Alan waved his ale mug. “Not the future of warfare, but its past! I reached 500 years into the past to pull out the answer we needed to win today. You’ve heard the stories about what those Danes did over the last four or five days. They won’t do that again. I had thought, after they surrendered, of releasing them on parole not to return to England again and to give them two of the boats, but not after I heard those stories.

  “I promised them mercy, so I won’t hang them. They’ll become slaves, but I suggest we sell them in London, Norwich, Nottingham and York. I don’t want Danish ex-warrior slaves with access to sharp farming implements walking around my estates. Divide them into four groups, hobbled together in a coffle. Three or four of each of you provide an escort to guard them, at least a dozen guards per coffle under a responsible man. Alric, Edwold, Edgard, Swein, Godfrith, Aelfweald, Edward, Cuthbert, Toli, Leofwine and Wade. Also Lady Anne’s thegns Aelfhare, Aethelwulf, Esmund and Wulfgar.”

  “Aelfhare died fighting on the line today,” said Alric.

  Alan crossed himself and spoke a quiet prayer to himself before continuing. “The head-money will be shared between the sixteen of you, including Aelfhare’s family. That would be about 6,000 shillings?” Alan looked across at Osmund and shouted, “Have you finished accounting what is in those ships and the pile of valuables yet?”

  Osmund walked over with a piece of parchment and a quill. “It’s hard to be accurate, since I’m not sure of the values of all of the goods, or the jewels and so on. My best guess is about 12,000 shillings. Hugh has got it all under guard. Also he’s had the prisoners busy tidying the battlefield. He’s had all the trenches dredged to recover the bodies and the weapons at the bottom of the water and put those with the other weapons. All of the burnt and dead bodies he’s had dumped in two of the trenches and filled them in as mass graves- the Danes that is,” Osmund quickly corrected himself. “The dead from Wivenhoe will be buried in the churchyard here tomorrow, and each detachment will take its own dead ho
me when they leave.”

  Alan borrowed Osmund’s parchment and quill and made some quick calculations. “We’ll give each man five shillings, cash on the nail before they go. Not tonight, otherwise they’ll start gambling. 100 shillings for each man wounded who has lost a hand, foot or limb, and 100 to any widow whose man has either died so far, or who dies of his injuries. Two shillings to each of the Wivenhoe peasants who took part in the fighting.” Alan realised that even such small sums were a princely reward for poor men.

  “Osmund, reserve enough to pay the men when they leave tomorrow morning, except my own men who I’ll pay when we get back to Thorrington. The rest, and the captured arms, we’ll distribute in one week from today in Thorrington to the thegns to use as they see fit. Hugh! Load the rest of the valuables and all the arms and armour into two of the longboats. Get the prisoners filling in the rest of the trenches. We don’t want the local children or drunks falling in and drowning. Break down the onagers, load them on the wagons and send them back to Thorrington. Already done? Good. I’ll have a word to you outside in a minute.”

  As the thegns hurried out to do his bidding Alan saw that Anne had been sitting at the table, hidden behind the bulk of some of the men. “You always know what you want, don’t you?” she asked quietly.

  “Mostly, but I usually don’t get it, not until the last few months at least,” he said giving her a meaningful glance. “Thank you for the bath, clothes and use of the bed. I hope that you also got some sleep?”

  “My pleasure, or at least that of my fifty-year old housekeeper, who said she was most impressed with what she saw when bathing you.” A slight blush indicated that perhaps the attention had been slightly more personal than that. “And as for sleep, yes I had several hours on top of the bed next to you, with a maid in attendance of course. So perhaps one could say that we have slept together?”

  Alan gave a hearty laugh before settling down with a sigh. “To business! There are four ships off Brightlingsea, holding more captives than we rescued this morning. I intend to take those ships tonight. Will you come with us and supervise the care of the captives once they are released? I don’t anticipate any significant danger. If you have any sailors or fishermen who are used to handling boats I’d appreciate it if you could lend them to me.”

  Anne also returned to seriousness and nodded her acquiescence. “When do we leave?” she asked.

  “It’s about four in the afternoon, isn’t it? I want to get started as soon as possible, so we come on the ships at about midnight.”

  “Then we had best both get busy!” said Anne rising and calling for her steward Wybert.

  Alan spotted Owain sitting on a nearby bench, tuning a lyre and walked over to him. “We haven’t had a chance to talk as I’d like. I’ll be taking a short boat trip in a few minutes, would you care to join me? Bring that longbow of yours.”

  Owain raised eyebrows his eyebrows. “More action?” he asked in his lilting Welsh accent. “You seem like a man who can’t stop fighting. To be sure, I’d be glad to accompany you. Just I’m not going to do any rowing! I’ll get my bow and meet you at the beach.”

  Alan interviewed the sailors from the Danish ships they had captured. They were 63 in number, about half Danes and the rest a mixture of Norwegians, Swedes, Germans, Finns and Icelanders, with a few Scots, two Russians, an Irishman and two Englishmen. Most had been hired for this expedition, although most of the Danes had sailed for the same chiefs before. Some had wives and families in their country of origin, but most were young and unattached. He chose 22 men from the non-Danes he felt he could trust, and offered them ongoing employment on the ships that he now possessed, promising housing and relocation to those with families. Anne had recommended seven local ex-sailors and two fishermen who could steer boats and who could be distributed amongst the ships for the night expedition. Osmund had been instructed to arrange the return of the Thorrington horses and had advised Alan that the men due to march to Clacton, Wyley, Thorp and Kirkly were more than happy to be carried part of the way on horseback.

  Alan placed eight sailors and twenty warriors into each of four captured longboats. Sunset was due at a little after eight in the evening. Sunrise next day was due at just after four in the morning, with the moon appearing a little before two in the morning. With a northerly wind and outgoing tide they left at seven in the evening, gliding along silently.

  Alan and Owain stood leaning on the stern rail of the ship, looking back towards the wake of the boat. “That’s a very useful bow that you have,” commented Alan. “Is it common amongst your people?”

  “The longbow?” queried Owain. “”Yes indeed. That’s why the Saxons haven’t been able to conquer my people despite several hundred years of warfare along the frontier, and why you Normans will have the same lack of result.”

  Owain picked up the bow that was leaning against the rail. It was larger than he was at 5’ 4”. The bow was 5’ 9”. He said, “The bow is matched to the bowman, being about as long as he is tall. The bigger the man, the longer the bow and the stronger they both are, but more important is the draw of the bow. The arrows are a cloth-yard long, 39 inches. As you saw today they can punch clean through chain mail. A good bowman will hit a single target most times at 200 paces and have fifteen aimed shots a minute.”

  He strung the bow and handed it to Alan, who balanced it in his hand and then tried to draw it. It drew easily enough to the chest, but he wasn’t able to draw it to the ear. “It requires a lot of practice,” commented Owain. “You have to train and strengthen the specific muscles that you need, which are different from hacking around with a sword. Even a poor bowman will hit a single target at 150 paces most of the time and will hit an army all the time,” he concluded with a quiet smile.

  “Why aren’t they in general use?” asked Anne.

  Owain replied, “Because the men who hire the men to fight in wars all wear chain-mail. Norwegians, Danes, Normans, French and English. You wouldn’t encourage the use of a weapon that makes your expensive armour ineffective and swats your best trained swordsmen or horsemen like flies. We Welsh normally use it in close quarters in ambush, to punch through the mail shirts of the English. We don’t have enough men to stand and conduct a proper battle,” he said ruefully. “We have no armoured knights or huscarles and have been happy to kill the flower of Anglo-Saxon nobility well out of range of their double-handed axes. There aren’t many of us, so we hit, run and hide, disappearing amongst our wild hills at will. They burn our villages, but at a price- and a turf-roofed cottage is easy enough to rebuild when the invader has left the valley and you had little enough in the way of goods to lose in the first place. They kill every one of us they can find, but would discover we respond to the hand of friendship more readily- apart from the traditional cattle-raiding along the border. We really aren’t worth the trouble that has been taken over us by first the Romans and then the English. Perhaps the Normans will see more sense.”

  Anne was clearly not comfortable with the idea of the English being invaders and the earls of Mercia guilty of attempted genocide.

  “Don’t expect anything different from the Normans,” said Alan sourly. “If one sheep goes missing you can expect Roger de Montgomery, Hugh d’Avranches, Roger de Lacey and the rest to be across the border by nightfall, just for the fight if nothing else. Have your king talk to William when he returns, but despite whatever promises are made if there is any provocation by your people the war-bands will be on the march.”

  Owain nodded his head at the words of advice and commented, “Certainly, and there is no way our people will give up sheep-duffing or cattle-rustling, not just from the Western Marches but also from each other. It’s a national pastime.

  “Now back to these bows. They have a draw-weight four times that of most hunting bows, even those used for large game. They’re a specialist weapon that needs specialist training. Perhaps not full time, but a couple of half days a week. I’ve noticed your liking to kill the enemy at range to e
ven the odds, or put the odds in your favour. I have no problem with that. Why stick a sword in somebody’s guts when you can kill him with no risk at 200 paces? Fuck chivalry! War is about winning and having the smallest possible number of casualties. What do you have in mind?”

  “I’m thinking about having a combined-arms force, similar to what we Normans are used to, but with a difference. From what you say, you Welsh rely on bowmen. The English rely on heavy-infantry, as do the Norwegians and Danes- although they are more mobile by using their boats. The Normans use infantry and bowmen, but our main weapon is the armoured man-at-arms on horseback, and the use of manoeuvre on the battlefield. We won at Hastings despite that combination not working well and not being able to manoeuvre because of the ground. My thoughts are for 50 cavalry, 100 trained infantrymen, mainly swordsmen, and 100 partially-trained levy spearmen. And fifty archers, armed with longbows.”

  “Good God!” exclaimed Owain. “Are you intending to fight the earl of Essex? I doubt he could raise more men than that!”

  “No, but I have no doubt that this week’s invasion by the Danes will not be the last. Swein Estrithson has a claim at least at good as William to be king of England. After all, it’s only twenty or so years since the Danish ruling family was replaced as the kings of England. Harold Hardrada of Norway had a good claim, but whether that died with him at Stamford Bridge has yet to be seen. Swein was distracted last year by internal politics in Denmark, or it may have been a four-way fight for England and only God knows where the result would have gone! Certainly England would lie devastated under the heel of whoever had won.

  “Yes, in the last few days we’ve been very successful with minimal forces and some use of tactics, something the Danes don’t understand as they tend to think with their axe. I intend to make sure that next time we have the men and machines we need so that if the enemy actually starts to think with their heads instead of their balls, we still prevail. Here in the east we face a number of risks from the sea, as well as the ‘give and take’ of politics at home. Rebellion by the English. Rebellion by the Norman lords. What would happen if William were murdered, or just dies accidentally? He has two sons. Who would support who for the Crown or the Duchy? Difficult times may well be ahead. This raid by the Danes is most opportune. It provides us with the weapons and the money we need to forge both a wealthy and a militarily strong Tendring Hundred, and to look after our own irrespective of what may happen in the future.”