There was only one attacker left and he was quickly overwhelmed. A great cheer went up from his men. They’d killed seven berserks for the loss of three themselves. Bodvar Bjarki was trying to get to his feet but he was still hopelessly disoriented. Bragi came forward with his sword.
‘No!’ said Vali. ‘I want this one as my slave. Take him behind the ranks and tie him up. And make sure the women don’t kill him; I want him alive.’ The berserk was bundled away.
Then he saw Drengi, the man who — Vali had to think it — was betrothed to Adisla. ‘Hello, Drengi.’ Vali tried to keep his temper. He was furious that Drengi had not tried to find Adisla.
‘Lord.’ The man couldn’t meet Vali’s gaze. He knew what Adisla meant to Vali, and though this hadn’t stopped him pursuing her, it did mean that he found the prince’s presence disconcerting.
‘Go and find Adisla and her mother. Help them to safety.’
Drengi nodded and turned to run down the back of the hill, as glad to be spared further conversation with Vali as another attack.
‘Die for them!’ shouted Vali after him. Then he called up into the woods, ‘You did well, Hogni. Stay your hand until my command, or if I die, until our foes are about to overwhelm us. Take them at their thickest press. Our wall will stay here, behind the bodies. They can walk to us on a road of their own dead.’ He turned. ‘Bragi, where’s my seax?’
Bragi shook his head, said, ‘Vali the swordless,’ under his breath and went to the back of the line while Vali retrieved his shield. The old warrior came back with the weapon, which Vali stuffed into his belt.
There was a knocking sound. Two men fell. Then the sound again. Another man fell.
‘Arrows!’ shouted Bragi. ‘Shields up.’
‘Reform the wall!’ screamed Vali. ‘Reform the wall!’ He pulled and pushed men into position.
Vali snatched up a spear as the men packed back in, bunching to shelter under their shields. Vali knew this was far from ideal. The best formation to receive arrow fire was spread out and separate, but to resist an infantry charge they needed to be together. Never mind. He pushed the men in, raising his shield to meet the angle of the incoming arrows. The arrows made a scrabbling sound as they glanced off the shields, like rats running over boards, thought Vali. The noise came again, and again, and he crouched low. He realised that they were safe beneath their shields. Few of the arrows penetrated and those that did had been slowed beyond harm.
The noise stopped. Vali risked peeking out from over the top of his shield. Seventy warriors at least, all with shields, the men at the front in byrnies and helmets, carrying spears. The dragon standard was brought to the front of the line. This is it, thought Vali: this is where it ends. He had thought his wit and cleverness could triumph, but as he looked at the ranks of the enemy he realised the crushing power of numbers. He had only half believed it when he had told his men they’d die that day. It had been meant to encourage them, to remove the anxiety of battle. If you are certain of death then fear becomes pointless. Looking at the Danes — the strong jarl warriors at the front in their armour, helmets and swords, the young men behind them with their caps and spears — then looking at his own old men and boys, he knew the game was up. Still he’d done his best and maybe bought Adisla some time.
‘The back ranks must push forward at the moment they hit us,’ shouted Bragi. ‘That was why we got flattened by the berserk — you didn’t push. You must push. If you don’t they will overrun us.’
The Danish king looked relaxed and confident beneath his banner, jovial almost, more like a man about to welcome guests on a feast day than a warrior in the field. He was talking to someone — an odd figure. Vali had never seen anyone like him before. Clearly a foreigner, the man was dressed in a blue tunic, skirt and trousers, all edged with red. On his head he wore a blue cap, the top of which took the form of a four-pointed star drooping down over his head. Who was he? What was he doing with the Danes? Vali thought he matched descriptions of the northern Whale People, who were noted sorcerers.
The king was pointing left and right, weighing up options.
‘He must charge,’ muttered Vali. ‘He must charge.’ He knew very well that Haarik had time to cook a meal, sleep even, and then outflank them the next morning. One of the Danish jarls was sweeping his arms, gesturing around to the back of the hill. If he came around the back or even sent ten men that way, they were done for. They were likely done for whatever happened, but if they were to have a glimmer of a chance, head-on confrontation was it. Then Vali saw a beautiful sight. The Danish king shook his head, laughed and patted the jarl on his shoulder. He was too proud to do it the sensible way: he was going to charge the wall down.
The king put on his helmet and took up a spear.
‘Come on,’ said Vali. ‘Come on.’
But then he saw some men split off. One group of warriors went left, another right, leaving around fifty. Where was the king? His banner was there but he had disappeared. Vali had no time to think about that. The numbers were more even but Vali faced being attacked from the back in very short order. What to do? In king’s table they talked of ‘getting the run’. This meant that though your opponent might be in a better position, you had the advantage of time. If you didn’t let it slip away, he would never get the chance to bring his most threatening pieces to bear. It was the same here — no time for fancy tactics or movement. They just had to kill the enemy at the front before the enemy behind arrived.
Bragi, crushed in by Vali’s side, saw the significance of what had happened.
‘Looks like we’ll have to fight quick, lord.’
Vali nodded. He would still rather be captured by the Danes, sold into slavery and killed than spend another evening in Bragi’s company, but the man’s loyalty and, more than that, his competence, impressed him. He’d weighed up the situation immediately, not by thinking about it, as Vali had done, but as an instinctive reaction.
Bragi spoke: ‘You’re your father’s son. I never thought I’d say it, but you are. There was a rumour for years that he’d bought you in the Isle to the West, and not got much for his money either.’
‘Your charm is effortless,’ said Vali, but the smile he gave Bragi was genuine enough.
‘You can see why people thought that, with you being an ugly black-haired bastard and all,’ said Bragi.
Vali looked at the enemy. The swords of the men at the front were drawn. It was about to begin.
‘Bragi,’ he said.
‘Yes, lord.’
‘If we make it to Valhalla…’
‘Yes, lord.’
‘Don’t sit next to me.’
The old man laughed until tears came down his face. ‘You are a king, sir, a king,’ he said.
Bragi had once told him it was a fine thing to die and Vali had thought it more homespun nonsense, but for just an instant he could feel the warmth of the sun on his face, smell the smoke of the burning village, take the weight of the spear in his hand and believe him. There was a comradeship here that he had never felt before, a bond with his fellows that went beyond any small consideration of actually liking them.
There was a roar like a landslide, and the enemy were charging, screaming oaths to Thor, the thunder god, and Tyr, god of war. The name of Odin was not on their lips. These were not berserks, and the hanged god was too peculiar, mysterious and mad for the average farmer or bodyguard.
Vali felt curiously disconnected from the scene and wondered who he should call on for help. None of the gods had ever appealed to him at all. All apart from one.
‘Lord Loki,’ he said, ‘prince of lies, friend to man, let me endure. Let me endure.’
Vali was not religious but for a heartbeat he realised the truth of the gods of his people. Every one was a god of death — of war: Freya, goddess of fertility and war, Thor, god of thunder and war, Freyr, god of pleasure and prosperity but battle bold. Only Loki was not a fighter. Only Loki stood at the sides and laughed, a laughter more deadly to the self-important gods than any sword or spear. No wonder they had chained him.