The Eowan Host Comes
Not long after the the battle at Ottenby word comes from Cuthraed Wulfinga that an Eowan host of perhaps 1000 warriors is marching south-east from Morbylange towards Ekethorpe and Ossby. That night all four Wulfinga Night-Wolves go forth glean what they can of the approach of the enemy Here. They return to confirm what their brother has said. There is a host of at least a thousand Eowan warriors like to enter the long gorge that cuts like a knife across the great limestone plateau that dominates the centre of the south of the island. However, they move slowly for they are encumbered by a train of about two dozen wains pulled by Seith-Slaves.
Beornfrith wastes no time. He spends the day organising his own Here and, leaving Ossby but lightly defended, mostly by wounded men, he marches forth with 800 Geats and freed slaves – 550 of who are armed as deguth to fight in the shield wall, the rest as lightly armed geoguth to fight on the flanks.
The Battle Begins
It is the middle of the day, the sun high in a nearly cloudless sky, a light breeze wafts up the valley from the north-west. The Geatish Here draws up at summit of a slight rise in the floor of the stony coombe. The Wulfingas, who have traversed its whole, say that this point more or less marks the mid-point of this gully, that cuts through the bare limestone plateau dominating the centre of southern Eowland. Ahead, down the gently sloping valley floor, they see a wooded glade. It does not require the word of their geoguth scouts to know that the wood is full of Eowan, for the trees arenot so tall nor the canopy so dense that it could hide the throng of their enemies and their wagons but a few hundred yards away.
Ealdorman Beornfrith places eight eoreds, each of fifty warriors or so, just downslope of the summit, and bids them draw up in a three rank shieldburgh to hold the level ground in the centre of the coombe. The two eoreds of geoguth – each around six score – are set upon each flank, on the steep banks where they may array themselves on the rough ground, to shoot down upon the oncoming foe with bow, sling or daroth, but above all to ensure with blade and body that the Eowan cannot out-flank the shieldwall. Three eored, including his own, he holds in reserve upon the summit itself where the taller of his warriors may see over the heads of the shieldwall to the valley below. Much anguish this deployment causes some in the reserve, for they dearly wish to be in the front rank and feel their honour diminished. They argue for a single deeper, shieldburgh, but Beornfrith will not be swayed. “Who knows what deviltry the Witches plan or where their malice might fall? They may set themselves to break our shield-burgh with witchery no man, however strong, may withstand, but if we can rebuild again from within at need they may be thwarted.”
Thegn Osgar’s eored is given a place of honour upon the unshielded, rightmost flank. Beyond them, deployed upon the steep slopes are Wistan’s Wolves. The footing is treacherous on the lower slopes, for though the gradient in some places is gentle enough, in others it is quite sharp. Underfoot, where the bare rock shows, it is safe enough, but there are patches of scree, and places where the earth covering is thin and crumbling. There is sparse vegetation – bushes, creepers and the odd scrubby oak that clings precariously to some patch of earth, or its roots sunk deep into some rocky crevice. Higher up it is steeper and becomes more of a scramble, or even a climb, to ascend. Wistan sends a couple of lads to climb all the way up to the top, as lookouts lest the Eowan try to approach from the highground. Wistan takes as his forward point a narrow gully, choked with briars, that conducts a small rivulet down from the high ground and into the valley. It is perhaps fifty paces forward of the shieldburgh.
Down on the valley floor four Thunor priests, led by a goda known only as The Goda, draw out a ward a few paces to the front of the shieldburgh. Their work done they disperse to their eoreds. As Leofdag rejoins Thegn Osgar, he mutters, “It will not touch their warriors for Thunor is friend to all men – even Eowan – but it will take a toll on any wight that crosses it today till the sun goes down, should the witches conjure such forth. The two Frige-Priestesses, Saexburg and Godmari do their rounds. Both are in their middle years and of the two only Godmari might have drawn the eye when young, but they walk like queens on the battle-field, in byrnies, weapons at their belts, giving blessings and words of encouragement. However, their main work today is yet to begin. In their wake follow a small band of leeches – most likewise girt for war. They distribute to trusted men leather bottles of Bright Ale, fresh-brewed from the vats at Ossby, that will restore a man’s vigour when wearied by battle. It is but a drop in the sea for over 800 men with a battle in prospect, but who knows what difference it might make to the wyrd of a man who drinks of it in need.
Four Woden priests give their blessings to a band of their crazy-eyed, battle-wod adherents who go take their places at the front of the shield wall. Then they sit cross-legged, facing in a circle, upon the ground behind the summit, and pass a brew around between them, ignoring all else. Above the Geatish Here there is a seagull lazily gliding in circles upon the breeze. Suddenly above it there appear two ravens who descend and grab the seagull in their talons, rending with their great beaks. The seagull falls but none see where it lands and the ravens flap off towards the woods. Equally suddenly a raptor – an osprey perhaps – appears in the sky above them and the ravens flee. An arrow shoots up from the southern flank where stand Hunlaf’s Harriers, the second geoguth eored. Lucky shot or master bowman or both, but it strikes the osprey, not full upon the body but plucking feathers from its wing and it plunges towards the forest and is lost from sight.
Standing upon the northern flank, Wistan’s sensitive nose catches a whiff of …. something…. on the breeze wafting gently up the valley. He knows he has smelt it before in wolf-form but dismissedas general human-stench. His human mind knows it to be distinctive and unusual – strange, pungent herbs, overlaying a whiff of …… carrion. He glances at his Wulfing cousins who nod imperceptibly. Down in the shieldwall Hrothgar shivers, he can smell nothing but senses the presence of death. Perhaps it is but a presentiment of the slaughter to come in this place. Perhaps it is something else.
Of a sudden there is a horn blast from the woods and the Eowan host steps forward into the sunlight. Here and there is the glint of well-polished byrnie or burnished plates sewn to leather, but for the most part the Eowan are lightly armoured. Many indeed seem stark-naked, their bodies glistening with oil. Some are drinking from small flasks that they toss aside after draining. A cowled figure steps totheir front – surely a witch. To either side are two undoubted witches, brooms brandished aloft. Where they stand dust-devils arise – vortexes of wind that suck up leaves, and twigs and earth from the ground. Speculative arrows shot by geoguth on both flanks are deflected or absorbed by these whirlwinds. As they spin they seem to multiply, as smaller dust-devils career off, towards the Geatish Here. Those that encounter the Thunor-wards seem to wink out of existence, but they play merrily amongst the un-warded geoguth on the flanks. The witch in the centre raises her arms and it seems that the ground itself rises up in front of her. At her command the rocks shake themselves free of earth and debris and form themselves into three great pillars, that sprout arms and legs until they have the seeming of giants, wrought of boulders. “Staenbogan”, mutters Leofdag, “I’ve heard of them but never seen the like. I doubt our wards will hold them, but let us hope they hurt them.” At a command from the witch, the Staenbogan begin to trundle towards the Geatish shieldwall, in ground-shaking bounds. Behind them there goes up a great roar from a thousand Eowan warriors charging in their wake.
The Battle Rages
The battle rages for upwards of two hours, but men say after that it is decided in the first few blows – and by Beornfrith’s prudent deployments. As the three Staenbogan cross the Thunor ward each staggers in apparent agony and cries out as if great boulders are rasping together. In the centre the great wight staggers onwards into the shieldwall of Arnulf’s eored, pounding with its fists against the battle-boards of the Geats. The shieldburgh begins to splinter and into the gaps run the Eowan warriors and stabbing at the Geats with their saexes – many are seith-crazed, their bodies made hard to pierce by witchcraft.
Had it gone so on the left and right flanks where the other Staenbogan struck it might have gone hard with the Geats. However, on the left flank where Sibyhrt commanded, he had them step smartly forward to hold the Staenbogan on the line of ward, and packed in men behind to support them. Rage as it might against the Geatish Shieldburgh, the great Stone-Wight could not long endure the wrath of Thunor before it crumbled. Brave men died to hold it in place, but the shieldwall stood firm and was still in good order to receive the Eowan charge.
On the right Thegn Osgar took a different approach. He bade his stoutest warriors, such as Svipdag, Hrothgar and Tohrwulf, whose rune-etched blades would bite more readily upon the ur-wight, take the charge of the beast, while he and Sweyn, the mighty Sweon, stepped smartly out of the shieldwall on either side and smote savagely with their Giant-wrought axes upon its flanks. Under the onslaught of such mighty blows as they dealt blows it soon perished, but not before it had caused some disruption to the shieldwall that the oncoming Eowan could exploit. However, the men of the Black Pig and the Spearhafoc stood firm and re-established their shieldburgh to repulse their foes.
In the centre Beornfrith himself and Higbald, led their eoreds, held in reserve against such contingency, to plug the gap in the lines left by the Staenbogan’s destruction of Arnulf’s shieldburg. The Staenbogan at last was beaten down and the gap in the shieldwall mended.
One last throw of the dice remained for the Eowan witches as a great red boar with deadly flashing tusks and a hide that seemed impervious to the heaviest of blows, simply appeared within the ranks of Ida’s eored. It slew Ida first, laying open her thigh so that the bright blood spurted from her body like a fountain, and then a score or more of her folk, while the triumphant Eowan surged through their broken ranks. However, once more Beornfrith’s prudent plans saved the Geatish battle-burg as Eata’s eored stepped into the breach to stem the tide once more. Meanwhile, Ida’s gesiths, Dearlaf and Sigulf avenged their mistress, driving their rune-marked blades into the flanks of the monstrous boar, which thereupon suddenly vanished so that the two might have asked themselves whether it had ever been there, were it not for the broken and bleeding bodies of their comrades all around.
With the Geatish line standing firm and their sorcerous tricks dissipated, the Eowan began to waver. All along the line they started to take a step back, and then another in the face of their implacable foes.
The Battle Ends
At the command of the Herewisa’s horn, the Geatish Shieldburgh advances along the valley, their ranks thinner than they had been two hours since. Sibyrht and Osgar’s eoreds are much depleted; Ida and Arnulf’s all but destroyed; on the flanks, Hunlaf’s Harriers and Wistan’s Wolves are both badly mauled. However, the Eowan have fared worse. As they march the Geats stop to dispatch such Eowan who are reluctant or unable to flee. No quarter is given. An attempted breakout by a core of Eowan on the Geatish left wing is snuffed out brutally by Eata, Higbald, the remains of Sibyrht’s eored and Hunlaf’s Harriers. Perhaps a handful of Eowan contrive to escape down the valley to the east.
Amongst those Eowan fleeing westward towards the trees, are the witches – four in all. Three carry brooms aloft, but no longer do they command the Daefils of the Air to wreak havoc amongst the Geatish host. One stops a moment, puts her broom between her skirted legs and soars into the sky to imprecations and threats from the woman in the centre, who waves her fists impotently at her departing form. Not a single arrow, it seems, is left to the pursuing Geats and she is soon out of slingshot range. Seeing this the other two do likewise and the fourth is left alone, to stagger into the woods.
As he commands his eored forward Osgar looks around and realises that less than half are fit to comply with his order. Some, like Svipdag are simply exhausted, others are wounded, not seriously, but sufficiently to make them unable to follow. In this latter group are Sweyn with his great axe and Leofdag, the Thunor-priest. There are a few more grievously injured and more than a handful slain. Most were most killed by the staenbogan, or during the period after its fall when the Eowan got in amongst the shieldwall. Among those now supping in Woden’s alehall is Mantican who had followed Osgar all the way from Gefndene. Young Bryhthelm, rescued from the Nicor at Siksvarp died here; and Manni the Smallander and the Weather Geatish waelcyrige Wulfwyn, two of the more notable warriors freed at Ossby. The Spearhafoc has suffered badly with no less than five from its original prize crew lying dead upon rock of the pass and others injured.
However, Svipdag apart, all his other gesiths remain at Osgar’s back – Saefrith, Hrothgar, Grimcytel – along with Leofric and Beornfrith of Gefndene, Ruric the Dane, Priscus and Genseric the Vandal. Somehow both Hild and Stibba, the surviving shipmen of the Black Pig, despite a distinct lack of prowess in the shieldwall, are still there in the back rank. There are only two ranks now.
As Osgar approaches the treeline he is aware of Wistan jogging up on his right shoulder. Looking around he can see that the fight must have gone hard amongst the geoguth. Wistan has much the same numbers left to him as Osgar, but he started with near three times as many. The hillside to the south of the valley is littered with the dead and wounded of Wistan’s Wolves – along with the Eowan they have slain.
Inside the woods they can hear a woman’s voice screaming dread galdor. All can now smell the carrion stench, and none need Hrothgar’s dark mutterings to know that there is evil afoot in this forest. There is a cry of anguish from Beornfrith’s eored in the centre who have been marching down the rutted track in the centre of the valley and a hesitation in their ranks. They can see deeper into the woods along the line of the trail than the other eoreds. For all the other eoreds of deguth there is a necessary hiatus as they shake out their formations to pick their way through the trees, bushes and undergrowth. There can be no shieldburghs in this terrain.
No such adjustments are need for Wistan and his geoguth and they forge ahead. Into the woods he charges, strangely-wrought spear in his left hand and a daroth in his right, fresh plucked from the breast of a comrade with God-witnessed words of vengeance for her death. Who knows when the Gods are listening? Though it seems that Wistan Wulfinga is man to whom the Gods pay heed.
Plunging through the woods, leaping through the undergrowth, Wistan comes unerringly to the source of the shrieking galdor. Hearing his approach – for he is making no secret of it – the witch whips around, bane-wand pointing as Wistan hurls his daroth. It is as if an icy hand grasps around the Atheling’s heart and he falls to his knees, gasping for his life but the Witch-Queen is transfixed by the daroth. She struggles to utter some last wickedness but chokes upon her own blood and pitches forward to lie still upon the forest floor.
Meanwhile, the Geatish deguth encounter the fruits of the Witch-Queen’s labours. Lurching from the wagons come ghastly lichs, armed and armoured for war. A wave of terror emanates from them that causes many to back away or freeze in their tracks. Many have faced the dead before and are not daunted. Thegn Osgar’s eored in particular have pitted themselves before against the dead that walk and there are Hel-runing Woden-Priests amongst the Geatish host for whom the dead hold no fears. Moreover, the lichs seem weak and unsteady in the dappling sunlight. In the absence of the Witch-Queen’s galdor seem deprived of motive and intent.
The Woden-Priests walk amongst them and command the feeble spirits inhabiting the bodies to depart. For the most part they do so and the lichs collapse lifeless to the ground. Where they resist the Priests direct warriors to hack their heads from their bodies. In truth there are few that require this treatment and they are no challenge to warriors with strong stomachs, iron wills and rune-marked blades. Thegn Osgar finds himself in great demand for the use of his giant-wrought axe.
Hrothgar tries to emulate the Woden-Priests in commanding the lichs. He finds some success in the sense that they clearly see and hark to him. The first two he tries, turn upon him so that he must hold them at bay with his spear, while others hack of their heads. The third, however, turns and flees him so that it must be pursued. His efforts are noted with some interest by the Woden-Priests.
In all there are but a score or so that must be dealt with in this way. However, the wagons reveal a larger number of similar lichs, most completely inert. They are dragged out into the light. There prove to be exactly one hundred of them. The number strikes dread into the Geats and it is not long before some begin to identify comrades – more from their accoutrements than their sunken-cheeked, eyeless faces. At length they bring forth a lich wearing the battle-boar decorated grimhelm of King Wiglaf. These are the bodies of the Borgholm Hundred.
The Woden Priests aver that the real essence of the men that they had been is long gone. They will not be drawn upon the matter of whether they now feast with Woden or not. Under their direction the lichs are stripped of anything that will not easily burn and are laid together on as much brush wood as can be gathered in a hurry. The Woden-Wise are adamant that this must be done long before sun goes down. The Geats are bone-tired, but as ever with the Eowan there is a large supply of the seith-enslaved in their encampment, for these wagons were not pulled by horses, oxen or mules. The most tractable of these are pressed into service by the Geats to assist them. Again, many of these are recognised as old comrades last seen at Borgholm.
As it goes the task is easier than it might have been, for it transpires that the lights and guts of the lichs have been removed and replaced with herbs and their skin rubbed with oils. So they are lighter to carry and when set alight, burn like torches. A few animate as they burn and have to be forced back into the pyre by Priests and men with spears. It has not rained in earnest for a month and before long the whole stand of trees is ablaze so that the fire reaches the glade where the Geats have laid their own dead. The Eowan are stripped and left where they lie.
As the sun goes down the Geats are encamped on the eastern side of the rise where the Shieldburgh made its stand, where they pass an uneasy but uneventful night. The following morning they pack up their gear and begin the march back to Ossby. The wounded who cannot walk are packed onto the wains, along with the substantial quantities of loot. These are now pulled by Eowan prisoners as well as their erstwhile slaves. They reach Ossby not long after midday, and find it much as they left it.