The Death of Gadd
There are those who say that he swore to avenge the boy’s family or die in the attempt; others that he simply muttered something about doing his best. Whatever the truth of the matter, the Rune-Priest Gadd never saw another dawn after he stood on the headland with the boy that morning and listened to his harrowing tale of murder and dark sacrifice. The following night, while in pursuit of the killers, he and his party were waylaid by a band of Merelings. Gadd was slain, bravely standing astride the prone body of a fallen comrade. He died a warrior’s death and feasts now with the Gods.
The tales starts, a so many do, with the blind scop, Arcenbryht. He had heard tell of a haegtesse, a rune-witch and Wen-priestess, in the Sweon host who had lately been put to flight at the Spile. It seems this witch had survive the battle and had fled north through the isle of Bardney with a small band of warriors, leaving a trail of slaughter in her wake. Arcenbryht imparted this rede to Gadd and bade him follow her; wreak revenge for Geatish lives stolen; and obtain whatever useful lore she might have. He directed them to the hold of Ceolraed, a dreng in the north of Bardney.
Gadd gathered a band of comrades: his friend Lyttleman; an East Geat by the name of Cynewulf who had a strong urge to leave Bardney; Herewulf, a bowman; Wulf, a fellow Weather-Geat; and Nothgyth the Ugly.
At Coelraed’s hold they met the boy, Eadward, who told of a band of Sweons – a woman and three men – who came to his family’s steading. When they arrived he was in the woods, tending to the pigs, but he saw what unfolded, powerless to intervene. The Sweons rounded up his family – mother, father, siblings – and the woman slew each in turn upon the strand, slitting their throats, their blood mingling the mere, all the while screeching incantations across the waters. As the last of his family died, the boy saw heads appear from the lake and a swarm of merelings appeared. Some dragged the bodies into the deep; others gathered around his family’s small fishing boat on which the witch and her companions embarked. At her bidding they launched the boat and it sped off along the westward channel of the Malanmere.
Having heard the boy’s terrible tale, the party begged a boat from Conraed – Gadd leaving a couple of arm rings as a gift. They set out in pursuit fairly late in the day and camped out in the open in a sheltered bay on the southern side of the broad channel. That night, from out of the marshes and reed-beds crept the Merelings, intent on slaughter. There it was that Gadd was slain and Wulf sore wounded, but the wights paid a heavy blood-price in return, but few escaping to their spawning beds, leaving five of their comrades dead on the beach.
The following morning those who were still hale bore their dead and wounded comrades to the steading of Thegn Britwold. He welcomed them and hosted them while Wulf recovered his strength. There they meet the priest, Eawulf whose godgifts seem more to come more from Tiw and Thunor than Woden, but nevertheless was able to aid them with the funerary rites for Gadd. They also met a shepherd who told of a Sweon ship that anchored in the channel some days before the battle at the Spile and took on passengers – a woman and three men – who had come down a shallow channel that ran from the north.
When Wulf was sufficiently recovered, the party, accompanied now by Eawulf in the place of Gadd, set off to explore this northerly channel. They had not progressed more than a few hundred yards in that direction when they came across a small boat hidden in the bushes by the side of the channel, more or less at the point where it becomes more or less unnavigable for even the smallest of crafts. From there they marched northwards up the shallow gorge along a small brook.
That night they encamped in the crook of a slight elbow in the channel on a sheltered strand. It is there in the dead of night that a strong band of Pukelings, led by a Pukelman assaulted them in their sleep. The fighting was fierce but in the end it was the Geatswho came through with their lives intact and the wights who lay dead in the dawn sun. The Pukelman, seeing his band slaughtered around him, waded over the brook and tried to flee but Cynewulf and Nothgyth trapped him and took his head – though both were sore wounded in the struggle.