James Aitcheson - Knights of the Hawk

Elsewhere across Jarnborg, all was disorder. Men, some only half-dressed, were scrambling from their tents into the morning light, struggling to their feet, running back and forth, swigging from leather flasks to lend them courage, hurriedly tugging on leather jerkins and mail shirts, belting scabbards upon their waists and snatching up spears and shields and whatever other weapons they could find to hand. Meanwhile their lords were yelling for order, trying to gather their hearth-troops around their banners even as they poured out through the gatehouse: an unruly horde sallying forth with blades drawn and raised to the sky.

And then, striding out from the great stone hall, came Jarl Haakon himself, he of the black-dragon banner. He wore a helmet with a nasal-guard, so his face was partly hidden. Nevertheless I recognised him not just by the greying braid at his nape and the keenness of the eyes that stared out from beneath his helmet’s gilded rim, but also by the rings of twisted gold he wore upon his arms, by his silver-gleaming hauberk, and by the dozen or so huscarls guarding him. His cheeks were red as he barked instructions to those around him, doing his best to ignore the hounds who were racing around him and his men, their tails up, occasionally leaping up to paw at their chests and lick at their faces. They sensed that something was afoot, and they wanted to be a part of it.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Magnus, who was behind me, but I waved him silent.

Haakon’s stable-boys brought him and his retainers their horses. Without hesitation they mounted up and rode out, bellowing at all the others making for the gates to get out of their way. The black dragon was flying to battle, flying to vanquish his foes and drive them from his shores once and for all.

Or so he thought. Hooves thundered as he galloped through the midst of his followers, closely followed by his huscarls, and still I kept my gaze upon them until they had disappeared through the gatehouse arch, with the rest of his army charging on foot in their wake.

‘Come on,’ I said to the others as the last of the enemy filed out from the fortress. Even in the short while that we had been holed up inside this hall, the mist had lifted considerably. The skies had grown lighter, and there was even a small patch of blue through which the sun was breaking. If we were looking for a portent, there could be few better than that.

Throwing the door open, I ran up the wooden steps into the yard, which was strangely quiet now. Only a few stragglers remained: those for whom the previous night’s celebrations had proven too much. Bleary-eyed and pale of face, they staggered about in search of weapons. Some were doubled over, spewing forth long trails of vomit on to the muddy ground. They didn’t notice us; or else, if they did, they didn’t think anything of us. They had more pressing concerns.

‘Where are you going?’ Eanflæd called as she came rushing after us, clutching her skirts to avoid tripping on the steps. ‘What about us? Are you just going to leave us here?’

‘You’ll do best to stay here, where you’re safe,’ I replied. ‘We’re going to find Oswynn.’

‘And then to burn this place to the ground,’ Magnus added grimly.

I tossed the keys to her and she caught them neatly in two hands. ‘Lock yourselves in if you have to, if you feel safer that way, although that door won’t hold much longer,’ I told her. ‘We’ll come back for you, I promise.’

‘Wait,’ she said, just as we were about to set off. ‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Tancred,’ I replied. ‘And this is Magnus. Haakon wronged us both, and we’re here to take our revenge upon him. But we have to go now, or else everything we’ve done so far will have been in vain.’

She seemed content with that explanation, and she would have to be, for that was all the information I was prepared to give her then. I signalled to the others and we set off across the yard, past the stables, towards Haakon’s hall. Taking care not to make a sound, keeping low so as to be less easily spotted, we moved along the side of that long stone building towards the gable end where the two huscarls had been posted earlier. I led the way, creeping towards the corner of the hall, where some dozen or so empty barrels were stacked. I crouched behind them, peering through the slightest gap, and saw that of the two guards, only one remained, looking more than a little agitated as he glanced around, his long-handled axe in hand. He was probably a few years younger than me, around the same age as Magnus, round-faced and looking uncomfortable in his hauberk.

‘How do we get past him?’ Ælfhelm murmured, startling me, for I hadn’t noticed him beside me.

It was a good question. The entrance to Haakon’s hall lay in full view of most of the rest of the fortress, and I couldn’t see how we could kill him without attracting unwanted attention.

‘I have an idea,’ Magnus said. ‘Wait here.’

Before I could say anything to dissuade him, he was rising to his feet and darting back the way we had come.

‘Magnus,’ I hissed in warning, but he was already too far away to hear me. Rather than heading back towards the building where the bed-slaves were quartered, though, he disappeared instead around the far end of the hall. Silently I cursed him for not telling us what he had in mind, for leaving us here.

That was when I heard what sounded like his voice, calling out in what must have been the Danish tongue from the far side of the hall. Ducking as low as possible so as not to be seen, I watched the entrance to see what the young door-guard would do. Whatever it was Magnus had said, suddenly the Dane was turning towards the source of the noise. Again the Englishman called out, and this time it was enough to draw the guard from his position. He ventured round the corner and out of sight.

This was our chance.

‘Now,’ I said as we scrambled from our hiding place, making for the doors to the hall. I thrust them open, and burst inside, with the two Englishmen behind me, into a long, dark feasting-hall. The wreckage of the previous night’s celebrations lay everywhere: broken pitchers, abandoned ale-cups and drinking horns, rushes stained with the contents of several men’s stomachs, and, suspended on an iron spit over the still-smoking hearth, the almost bare carcass of what had once been a pig, but was now hardly more than bone, with scraps of charred meat hanging from it. A putrid stench of piss and vomit filled the room, causing the bile to rise in my throat, but somehow I managed to hold it down.

Nothing moved, save for the mice scrabbling among the rushes in search of crumbs of food, and a scrawny cat that was licking its lips as it padded the length of the long trestle table that stood on the dais. A pair of torches in sconces mounted on the walls offered the only light. Apart from us the hall was empty. Behind us I heard the door open and I tensed, my hand leaping to my sword-hilt, but it was only Magnus.

‘Is he-?’ I began.

‘Dead,’ he confirmed.

I nodded. ‘Build up that hearth-fire, and do it quickly,’ I called to the three of them as I took one of the torches from the wall and marched towards the dais end of the hall, where I saw a flight of stairs leading up. ‘Anything that you think might burn, throw it on. We don’t have long.’

Haakon’s bedchamber would most likely be on the up-floor. Hurriedly I picked my way through the remains of the feast, over ale-soaked bedrolls and puddles that might have been water but which could well have been piss, then ran up the stairs, shouting: ‘Oswynn!’

No answer came. Reaching the top, I found myself in what must have been Haakon’s bedchamber. The faint light of my torch flickered across the roof-beams and the sloping thatch above. Richly embroidered tapestries in bright hues hung upon the walls to keep out the draughts. A squared tæfl board lay on the floor, the ivory and jet playing-pieces scattered everywhere.