The Battle of Maldon, August 991 CE

(Warning: this story contains physical violence appropriate to the historical period)

The pain was intense but only for a moment. My blade swept my foe’s spear aside at the last moment. Mighty Odin had saved me again and granted me the victory, my enemy’s body laid out at my feet. I shook my head to clear his blood from my eyes.

All around me, Saxon bodies lay strewn on the earth. Their foolish lord, what was his name? Byrthnoth, or some such unpronounceable Saxon name. Olaf Trygvasson had led our fleet to this small isle where we planned our next raid. The island was readily defensible, connected to the mainland by a narrow causeway, covered by the sea at high tide. Yet Byrthnoth came to challenge us! He had gathered his men and marched to the isle, but he could not get to us. But, by the same token, we could not get to him. Three of our champions fought three of theirs on the causeway, and neither we nor they triumphed. I had an idea, I wasn’t one of Olaf’s hearthguard, I had no right to speak to him direct, but I strode up to him nonetheless. “My lord,” said I, my heart quaking if I am to tell the truth, although I put a bold face on it as you can imagine! “My Lord, let me approach our foes and beg a boon from them.”. He laughed in my face but I stood tall and told him my idea. He laughed again, but this time slapped my back and bade me try my luck.

I strode down the causeway, into the river up to my knees, and shouted across at the English on the other bank. “Let my words be carried to your lord!” said I, “You call us Vikings -pirates- yet it strikes me that you are men of honour like we are. And you honour will be deemed less if you fail to allow us to test our mettle against yours this day! Might you not give us the chance to come across to your bank, to test our steel against yours? The honour would be all the greater for you and yours, and for me and mine, if you would only allow us to cross!” Now I expected at any moment to be cut down by a cowardly arrow, but I stood firm. No bastard Saxon would see my back! Let them come and feel the edge of my sword if they disagreed. None were more surprised than I when the Saxon host yielded the bank. It may have been Byrthnoth himself who answered my call; “Come pirate, now we have made room for you! Come ye men, quickly to us and to battle. Let God alone decide who may be masters of this English field!”

I bowed and only then did I turn my back and stride back to tell Olaf the news. He flung his arms around me, shouted to our brothers, declared that Loki himself could have done no better to trick our foes into such a mistake. My brothers cheered. He then nudged me and whispered in my ear: “Fight by my side today as a member of my hearthguard. I’ll have some of your luck as well as your sword.” It was the proudest moment of my life. To serve my lord was a singular honour, but to fight at his side…well my friend, you will know what that means to a warrior. Some of these Saxons despise us as vikings, but their warriors, the ones that fight beside their lord in his hearthguard, they would also recognise this honour. I would get my chance to measure my prowess at my lord’s side and against the very best our enemy had.

When I had set out from home in far away Vestfold in Norway, with my fellow Westfaldingi, led by our Jarl, Guthrum, we had filled a ship and many others joined us, over ninety some said, looking for plunder in England whose strong king had been murdered, leaving only a weak boy to hold the throne against their squabbling jarls. A perfect time for a foray, said Guthrum, and we believed him. As did many others, who joined together under Jarl Olaf, the strongest of us all. And we had done well. Three towns we had sacked up to now, and a fourth was ripe for the taking, just down the river from the isle, when Byrthnoth appeared with his army. Olaf held a council. By then I had distinguished myself by my courage and boldness, facing down three Saxon warriors who died defending their homes. Olaf asked Guthrum if he would permit me to listen at the council. “The boy has grown into a man,” he said, “and needs to learn more than fighting if he is to be a help to you when you return to Vestfold”. Guthrum had pondered for a moment, then gave me a wink and agreed. “Don’t let me down,” was his only command. He had been the one to cheer the loudest when Olaf compared me to Loki. I listened carefully as the jarls debated what to do. Giving battle was a risk. Why waste lives when we had much plunder to take home to enrich our homesteads and please our girls and our wives? No, they would have to come at us across the narrow causeway, wide enough only for three. We were safe where we were. We could sail on the next tide and find another, less well-guarded town to sack…unless they offered us battle on equal terms. In which case, we would be honour-bound to accept. Being the better warriors we would, without a doubt, be the victors. I had never imagined that fighting involved such careful making of decisions, such weighing of benefits and risks. I could see why Guthrum had let me come to the council-of-war. But it seemed to me wrong just to sneak away without at least trying to find a way to fight. I imagined that the Saxon warriors, despite being Christians, would feel the same way. How could they not? To be a man, accepting the risks of battle was something that I never shirked, and so, I thought, they must surely think the same way. So when Loki whispered into my ear, I did not hesitate, I strode onto the causeway and into the water without a moment’s hesitation.

So there I was, at Olaf’s side, as we measured ourselves against them, watching carefully for the banners that would mark out their important men, the men we would seek out to fight, man to man, shield to shield, sword to sword. My first real battle. I must admit I was scared, but mostly of letting Guthrum and Olaf down. That fear lent me strength to grip my shield and grasp my sword. If I was to die today, then it would be with my sword in my hand, so that the Valkyries would fetch me to serve Odin in Valhalla.

By Odin’s beard they were hard men to beat! Our first onslaught was beaten back and many good brothers met their fate at the end of a Saxon spear or hewn by a Saxon sword. But there I go, letting the words of the saga tellers direct my tale. The sagas, I realised, never spoke of the blood-stink thick in your nostrils, of the men trying to hold their guts in as they spilled onto the earth, or howled in agony when their arm was hacked off. Nor yet of the utter confusion and terror, when death could take you by surprise.

But we did not yield the field to the Saxon. The battle-lust was upon us and we returned to the fight. A spearpoint missed my head by a hand’s-width and I cut the hand that held it and screamed my defiance in my dying foe’s face as he fell. Then suddenly, there he was in front of me, the Saxon lord with his unpronounceable name, old but wise in the ways of war. I struck at his shield and battered it aside. He hewed at my sword but I met his thrust with another and swatted it aside. I looked into his eyes and he into mine, and he saw his death. He shouted something I could not understand. Was he calling on his Christian god perhaps? I would never know, because I thrust my sword point into his breast, pierced the ringed mail coat then thrust hard into his heart. He fell at my feet, his bright blood gushing, and I knew we had the victory.

And then Odin saved my life. I sensed rather than saw the fatal spear-thrust aimed at my heart and brushed it aside. As I said, the pain was intense, but only for a moment. I shook my head to clear the blood from my eyes and then I saw her. The Valkyrie, clad in white, sword in one hand, the other held out to me. “Come warrior and join Odin’s einherjar,” she said, “to fight with him at Ragnarok. You have fought well here in Midgard. Come now, feast and drink in Valhalla until your service is needed at the very end.” She swept her gaze down and I followed it, to my foe’s body lying at my feet. But it was not my foe’s eyes staring without sight at me.

It was I.