Six Viking ships were moored just below the falls, tied to the near bank, making a neat line. They were about two miles upstream from where Wynstan and the Shiring army stood staring out from among the trees.
This was the army’s first encounter with the enemy since Garulf became leader. Wynstan felt his stomach clench in anticipation. A man who did not suffer a spasm of fear before a battle was a fool.
The Vikings had made a small encampment on the mud beach,with a scatter of makeshift tents and numerous cooking fires giving up wisps of smoke. About a hundred men were visible.
Garulf’s army was three hundred strong, fifty mounted noblemen and two hundred and fifty foot soldiers.
“We outnumber them!” Garulf said excitedly, seeing an easy victory.
He might have been right, but Wynstan was not so sure. “We outnumber the ones we can see,” he said cautiously.
“Who else do we need to worry about?”
“Each of those ships could carry fifty men, more if crowded. At least three hundred came to England in them. Where are the rest?”
“What does it matter? If they’re not here, they can’t fight!”
“We might do better to wait until we’ve met up with the men of Devon—we’d be much stronger. And they’re only a day away, if that.”
“What?” said Garulf scornfully. “We outnumber the Vikings three to one, yet you want to wait until it’s six to one?”
The men laughed.
Encouraged, Garulf went on: “That seems timid. We must seize our opportunity.”
Perhaps he’s right, Wynstan thought. Anyway, the men were eager for action. The enemy seemed weak and they smelled blood. Coolheaded logic did not impress them. And perhaps logic did not win battles.
Nevertheless, Wynstan said warily: “Well, then, let’s take a closer look before we make a final decision.”
“Agreed.” Garulf looked around. “We’ll go back into the woods and tie up the horses. Then we’ll get behind that ridge and stay out of sight while we approach nearer.” He pointed into the distance. “When we reach that bluff, we’ll spy out the enemy from close up.”
All that sounded right, Wynstan thought as he tied his horse to a tree. Garulf understood tactics. So far, so good.
The army moved through the woods and crossed the gentle crown of the ridge, hidden by trees. On the far side they turned, moving parallel with the valley in an upstream direction. The men bantered, making jokes about bravery and cowardice, keeping their courage up. One said it was a shame there would be no one to rape after the battle; another said they could rape the Viking men; a third said that was a matter of personal taste, and everyone guffawed. Did they know from experience that they were too far away from the Vikings to be heard, Wynstan wondered—or were they just careless?
Wynstan soon lost track of how much ground they had covered, but Garulf showed no such uncertainty. “This is far enough,” he said eventually, his voice quieter now. He turned uphill, walked a few yards, then dropped to a crawl to approach the summit of the ridge.
Wynstan saw that they were indeed close to the bluff Garulf had indicated earlier. The thanes wriggled on their bellies to the vantage point, keeping their heads low to avoid being spotted by the enemy below. The Vikings were going about their casual business, stoking fires and fetching water from the river, unaware that they were being watched.
Wynstan felt queasy. He could see their faces and hear their desultory talk. He could even make out a few words: their language was similar to English. He was nauseated by the thought that he was here to cut these men with his sharp blade, to shed their blood and chop off their limbs and pierce their living, beating hearts, to make them fall helpless to the earth screaming in agony. People saw himas a cruel man—which he was—but what was about to happen was a different kind of brutality.
He looked up and down the river. On the far bank the ground rose to a low hill. If there were more Vikings in the area, they were probably farther upstream, having passed the falls on foot and gone on in search of a village or a monastery to raid.
Garulf wriggled backward on his belly, and the others followed suit. When they were well behind the ridge they stood up. Without speaking, Garulf beckoned them to follow him. They all remained silent.
Wynstan expected that they would withdraw for a further discussion, but that did not happen. Garulf moved a few yards farther, remaining behind the ridge, then turned down a ravine that led to the beach. The thanes followed, with the rest of the men close behind.
They were now in full view of the Vikings. It had happened with a suddenness that took Wynstan by surprise. As the men of Shiring moved downhill over the scrubby ground they remained quiet, gaining a few extra seconds of surprise. But soon one of the Vikings happened to glance up, saw them, and let out a cry of warning. With that the army broke its silence. Whooping and yelling, they ran pell-mell down the ravine, brandishing their weapons.
Wynstan took his sword in one hand and his spear in the other and joined the pack.
The Vikings realized immediately that they could not win. They abandoned their fires and their tents and dashed to the boats. They splashed through the shallows, severed the ropes with knives, and began to scramble aboard; but as they did so the English reached the beach, raced across it in a few moments, and caught up.
The two sides met at the edge of the river. A tidal wave of bloodlust swamped all lesser emotions, and Wynstan waded into the water, possessed by nothing but the overwhelming hunger for slaughter. He plunged his spear into the chest of a man who turned to face him, then swiped with his sword, left-handed, at the neck of another who tried to flee. Both men fell into the water. Wynstan did not wait to see whether they were dead.
The English had the advantage of always being in slightly shallower water, therefore freer to move. The thanes in the lead thrust with spears and swords and quickly killed dozens of Vikings. Wynstan saw that the enemy were mostly older men and poorly armed—some appeared to have no weapons, perhaps having left them on the beach when fleeing. He guessed that the best fighters in this group had been chosen for the raiding party.
After the initial explosion of hatred he managed to regain enough self-possession to stay close to Garulf.
