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From: Antony Bradbury tonyg6ypk@blueyonder.co.uk
Date: 27/11/03
Time: 12:10:58
Remote Name: 82.36.204.86
Harold rode to gain a vantagepoint. It was near a ridge that looked down on where Hardrada’s men were in the field. He could see they were still taking booty from the locals who had travelled from far afield. The morning was warm, the haze lifting in the summer heat; the bird song was at its height. Flies were everywhere, becoming a nuisance. Mosquitoes swarmed in the morning warmth, and the smell of lavender filled the air. The swallows and swifts darted and scooped the broth of flying food, almost colliding with some of the men in their attempt to feed off the flies and mosquito that were annoying the men who were there to fight other men.
“We could do with being on the other side of that river Harold.” said Gyrth looking rather disappointed with the view.
“We have the advantage of surprise, and in any case, as soon as we knock out that guard by the bridge we’re in the field and we can mop up this lot and see what else there is to do.” Harold was stood high in his stirrups trying for a better view.
“He looks a big fellow, but the only guard about from what the scouts tell me. I think we ought to take him out in the dark, that way we will still have the element of surprise in the morning. Ulf, go take a closer look, see what the land looks like, see if we can cross elsewhere in good order. That bridge is really a bit narrow to get us all across quickly.” said Harold, as he again took another look at the disappointingly narrow bridge. Ulf walked down and took stock of the situation and reported back to Harold. “On second thoughts, and I know it’s against my better judgement, we’ll go in now.” Said Harold looking toward Brithnoth and hoping for a nod of approval from the old warrior.
“It’s the only route we have; there is no other crossing we can take. The banks are too steep to clamber up them, and Hardrada’s forces would attack and defeat us if we tried to cross the river any way other than the bridge Harold.”
“Are the men are all assembled Brithnoth?”
“Yes Sire, exactly as you requested, not a man is out of place.”
Harold dismounted and approached Brithnoth.
“Right then, we are going to take out that bridge. See that it’s done immediately Brithnoth. Don’t be too long about it, we need to be across it in short order. We may never have such an opportunity again”
“Line the men up on the ridge. We’re going in.” Brithnoth called to the other sergeants. The men came smartly to the peak of the ridge, their shields shining in the morning sun. Each man knew what his job was, and he knew how to back up his kinsman, to defend and to attack and to retreat. Harold’s housecarls were professional soldiers. Brave the best in Europe, strong of will, steadfast, loyal and men of honour.
“Sire, look!” Said a man standing close by Hardrada. Harald, carrying a puzzled look upon his face that soon changed when he saw it was not Morcar.
“Tostig, get your arse over here now! Who is that on the ridge? I don’t want any bullshit. Do you recognise that gonfanon?”
“Oh shit! It’s Harold, and he has brought a vast army.” said Tostig beginning to wish he could be somewhere else.
“I want you to go send a message to Eystein Orri. Tell the messenger to have him here as soon as he can with full armour. It looks like we have a fight on our hands Tostig.” said Harald with a gleam in his eye. “We have been caught with our pants down Tostig. We have to make a stand with what we have. We will have to stall for some time if Orri is to arrive with the re-enforcement’s we need. What is going on there by the bridge?” asked Harald.
“The berserker guard is fending off Harold’s men, and he looks as if he is doing well too. Oh, that was a good one, did you see that Harald, a head rolled right off and on the return swing another rolled off, now that is neat work.” said Tostig gleefully.
The guard swung and struck again and again, bringing down yet another man on the bridge that was just wide enough for two men to cross side by side. His eyes wild with the rage he had inside himself, for he knew that at any moment he would be dead, but for his King he would do his duty until death. His comrades needed the time he could give to array them selves into battle order.
Gyrth was getting desperate; he needed a way round this man. He spied a small boat that was used for cockle collecting. “There is only one thing to do.” Thought Gyrth. Pointing to two rather small men in his retinue, he beckoned them toward him.
“You two men, get that boat into the water. Spear him from beneath, we’re going to be here all day otherwise.”
The two men slid the small vessel into the water some hundred yards up stream, and scrambled in. They rowed along against the flow of the stream, keeping a steady pace.
“Got a spear with you long enough?” asked the first man.
“One long enough to do what I need to do. Keep the boat steady do you hear?” said the other.
The boat, in an ungainly fashion, came gently up stream toward the bridge, the first man steering, the second standing with the spear ready to do its bloody work from beneath. Not a word was said between them, as they neared the crazed berserker, still flailing his battle-axe back and forth at his attackers, oblivious to what was now below him. As the boat passed underneath, and with careful aim, the soldier thrust the spear into the groin of the berserker above. The man, in agony, lost consciousness and fell dead. The fight was over, but not before twenty good men lay dead at his feet. Gyrth cried out.
“Sergeant, get the bridge cleared, and get across. Go, go, go!”
Harold rode across first and was up the bank on the other side in just a few moments. He saw the Norsemen now arrayed in battle order, a full circle killing any flanking attack that Harold may have wanted to make. Ulf rode to his side and the stood looking down the gentle slope. From the left Harold saw two men on horseback approach them.
“You don’t have to tell me Ulf, I know my own brother when I see him. If I could persuade him to back into the fold, we could at least settle this in an orderly way.”
Ulf sat in the saddle, a taciturn man, and just observed what was transpiring below them. The two riders slowly wound their way toward them. Tostig was riding his white pony, with Hardrada on a huge and handsome looking Shire. The two men stopped just feet away from Harold and Ulf.
“So Tostig, you’re going to come over to us? Tostig, you can have your earldom and half the northern shires too if you cross back to the family and fight with us; you know I keep my word.”
Tostig looked at his brother, with stern contempt. Hardrada could not understand Saxon. He took his words, relayed from Tostig about what was going on.
“If you think I brought this King here just to betray him, you are wrong. And what would you offer Hardrada in return for a peaceful settlement?” Tostig was feeling courageous, and stood up in his saddle. Harold did the same as in defiant gesture.
“I’ll give him seven feet of ground or as much taller than he is above other men.” replied Harold indignantly. At this Tostig signalled to Hardrada to turn and follow him down the slope towards the Danish troops.
“Well, what happened?” Asked Harald.
“There is to be no compromise. We must be prepared to do battle at once sire.”
“Who were the two men you spoke with, and the one standing tall out of his saddle, who was he?” Questioned Harald looking a little irritated.
“Harold Godwinson, my brother of course.”
“Tostig, why did you not tell me? I would have killed him there and then.” Tostig thought for a moment. “I would never be the murderer of a brother who had offered him friendship and lands. He will be dead soon enough Harald, but for now, we can fight and defeat them for sure.”
Harald and Tostig reached the circle of men where the standard of Hardrada, the Land-Ravager flew tall in the centre of the circle. They dismounted and entered the circle to await their fate. Though not fully armed, each man knew what he must do. They would stand their ground and fight until they defeated Harold or die to a man.
The Saxons moved in quickly, surrounding the Danish with shouts and jeers. The housecarls and fyrd stood by their sergeants and awaited their orders. Then master sergeant Brithnoth called out his orders.
“Aweccan! Guth raew filciath! Stande faeste! Waepnu nimth as Abideth bebob!” (“Attention! Form the battle line! Stand firm! Raise your weapons and await the order!”)
Brithnoth looked toward Harold for the order. Harold dismounted and a page led away his horse, the situation was tense. The silence was deafening, not a word could be heard, just the birds; unaware of what was to come next chirped, to some it was a lament to the people below them.
Harold broke the silence.
“My name is Harold, King of this fair country whom you seek to take as your own. I give you fair chance to return to your ships; to your wives and children, you will have safe conduct. Stay and you will die where you stand.” In unison, a roar of defiance came back. “Cifesborren!” (Son of a whore) jeered all from the ranks of Hardrada’s men.
Harold called out the order to attack. "Oraes!" Brithnoth repeated the call "Oraes!"
The Saxon lines moved in with spear and axe, cutting and thrusting. The lines of Danish warriors stood firm, yet fell one by one, in man to man, hand to hand fighting with scramsax and two handed battle axes, men took turns to hack each other to pieces. The Danes had little armour and few shields, countering with a fierce resistance that any soldier would be proud of. Heads rolled off shoulders, arms sliced off as axes swung and swords swiped and thrust on both sides. They fought like men, as though possessed by devils, each the focus of the other. The cries of pain were never heard, only the anger of men in the heat of battle were felt as they ferociously hacked away at each other, oblivious to all except their personal survival at any one moment, to what outcome no one was sure.
The blood of dead and dying men washed the field up to the ankles of those still standing. The spilled intestines of men, some still alive, caught in the feet of those reaching for glory, often being entangled in them, falling, themselves and being hacked down from above. The strewn brains of brave men made the ground slimy as if walking on a field of jelly.
Hardrada stood firm by his Land-Ravager standard, hoping that, Eystein Orri would arrive soon with his armour and fresh troops, but they were three hours march from where Hardrada’s men stood in battle. Hardrada looked about as his men fell by the hundred around him. Just thirty feet away he spied Harold, King of the English. Harold was in the thick of the battle, cutting down all before him. Harold Godwinson noticed Harald Hardrada, their eyes met in fierce defiance. Both men made a swath toward the other, hacking and cutting each trying to make a route to the other so that they could do personal battle. A hail of arrows filled the air from the Saxon forces as the killing continued apace. Arrows have no recognition of friend or foe, thus killing each side indiscriminately. Harald started to sing, spurring his personal bodyguard to further efforts of bravery.
"Odin will see you in Valhalla, his housecarls will welcome his brave new warriors. The fields green, pain, hunger and strife will longer taunt you. Riches abound for the bravest of you." called out Harald Hardrada as he cut down yet another Saxon.
Harald turned once more to see Harold Godwinson just ten feet from him. Harold fought fiercely with Hardrada’s housecarls, his lungs filling with the expired air of the dead and dying. The stench of blood and intestinal contents went unnoticed, as he made progress toward Hardrada himself. Both Kings were covered in the blood of the brave and courageous enemy.
From above, an arrow flew, spinning, as if its trajectory and destiny assured. From the sun it fell toward its target, the throat of Harald Hardrada. The arrow struck its target; it was the end. The giant of a man clutched his throat, his hands, fumbling in shock, to pull out the arrow, but it was too late, his jugular was severed, and he fell to the ground, dead. Hardrada’s housecarls fought on until the last man stood, only to be hacked down by a Saxon housecarl in a fierce hand to hand fight that saw both men die as their axes sliced through each other simultaneously.
Harold looked about. He saw that many of his good men had fallen; many were his personal friends.
“We have the field! We have the field and a glorious victory!” Cried Harold, relieved that at last they had defeated an enemy that he felt would be much harder to defeat than they were. Brithnoth, covered in blood and other men’s intestines, approached Harold. Both men were exhausted.
“Brithnoth, we have now defeated the greatest army the world has ever known. Yet I fear the battle is not yet over for I know there will be more on their way here.”
“My lord?” Brithnoth replied with an inquisitive look.
“The lack of shields and the poor equipment they carried was not their way. We caught them off guard Brithnoth. Soon we will engage once more the rest of Hardrada’s army. We must rest and then prepare. They will come that way, from the ships on the Derwent.” Harold was looking at little unsure of about what to do next.
“I know this territory well Harold. If the rest of Hardrada’s forces are moored at the mouth of the Derwent, and I suspect they will be, they have a three hour walk to reach us, and it’s all up hill. The sun is hot and they will have full armour to carry. We are bloodied and ready, still with fire in our bellies for a fight.” Brithnoth said while grinning broadly.
“By the rounds of Odin’s balls, you’re right! Muster the men. Prepare then for an attack from the left side. Take your best men to the ridge, hide below the other side and we will surprise them with an attack from the rear. My forces will lure them in with a feigned retreat, then back track to crush them. They will have no escape, except to the river.” Harold said with a tone of inspiration in his voice.
“You’re not my King for nothing my lord. Look, here comes Ulf, and he’s grinning too!”
“He was eight years old when I last saw him grin. He crapped in my porridge. I should have killed him stone dead. Though I had my own back Brithnoth. I had a turd inserted into a sausage!” They both roared with laughter, almost falling to the ground in stitches with glee.
“What’s so funny? Someone found we fought the wrong army or something?” asked Ulf who was now totally bemused?
“Had any sausages lately?” Enquired Brithnoth, he was falling about, and hardly containing himself with his laughter.
“Harold, what is this turd mumbling about?” Asked Ulf, pointing his finger toward Brithnoth and looking totally bemused. Harold fell beside Brithnoth in laughter. He too, unable to contain his glee at the remark.
“Turd, Turd, Turd.” mumbled Brithnoth in Harold’s ear. The laughter went on a full minute, before at last they were able to raise themselves to their feet.
“Oh, its nothing.” Harold replied as he threw a wink toward Brithnoth.
“Now we have another problem.” Harold filled in the details to Ulf of what is to come next.
“I’m sure we could cope with a second attack Harold, but we all need an hour’s rest, and I feel that the moment we see them the attack should begin.”
“They have no idea what has taken place here, or of the outcome Ulf. They may be in good heart and ready for a fight. Tell you what, I have an idea, and it just may work as a lure. Ulf, you take the Land-Ravager, place it and your men in the position over toward the bend in the river. They will head for that. That way their route of escape will be only be toward us. You and Brithnoth will be blocking the other two exits out. They will only have the river as an escape. Keep hidden behind the ridge Brithnoth, and listen for the trumpet call. You then come down with all force.” Ordered Harold.
“That should work.” Ulf said, sure in the knowledge that Harold’s plan would lead them to victory.
“Indeed it should.” Brithnoth agreed.
“We will have these turd’s for supper.” Ulf said matter-of-factly. Harold and Brithnoth both fell in tears on the grass, laughing and pushing each other’s shoulders in total glee.
“I’ll go get the men sorted out.” said Ulf with a puzzled look. He walked off, still not understanding the joke.
From: NY
Date: 24/01/12
Time: 14:06:22
Remote Name: 98.248.181.88
qM07FR http://www.RUWE5gOde94HqsfDYIh3uBfJfSMdiDSG.com