Tears of anguish were running down Alan’s face as he walked into the village and saw a group of Danish injured, many with horrible burns, sitting and largely being ignored by the English. Beside the small wooden church was a line of English dead, with the local priest Father Ator on his knees half way down the line, providing last rites to the dead. Alan counted 47, mainly wearing the rough clothing of cheorls and peasants.
Alan saw Anne sitting on the ground with a group of women and children who had been rescued. As he approached he was embarrassed as many, clearly recognising his air of authority and quality of equipment, stood to kiss his hand in appreciation. Time and time again he asked them to sit. Anne and another woman helped him out of his hauberk, struggling with its forty-pound weight. Underneath his gambeson and tunic were soaked with sweat and he stank.
He sat tiredly on the ground and wiped his face with a wet cloth that one of the women in the group brought him. “My God that was terrible! I’ll never be able to do that again. May God forgive what I have done! I never thought that the consequences would be like that. What can we do to help the badly burned Danes?”
“Nothing!” said Anne fiercely. “Do nothing! It is God’s punishment for what they have done! Let them all die as slowly and as painfully as possible. Listen now.” She had the rescued English tell their stories of the attacks on Mile End, Dayneland, Beer Church, Fingringhoe and other smaller settlements. The attacks were made without warning, the men who tried to resist cut down without a moment’s hesitation. Wanton murder and rape. Women were now widows, children orphans who had seen both parents killed, elder sisters as young as eight repeatedly raped and then their throats cut. Torture and every kind of wickedness. One of the pagan Danish leaders, killed in the fires that morning, had proclaimed himself in league with the Devil and had impaled every thegn or person of nobility to die a slow death while their womenfolk and children were raped and killed in front of them. Many of the women and children sat in shock, staring into the distance and rocking back and forth. The women and children of Wivenhoe did what they could to give comfort, holding and cuddling children, holding the hands of women and wiping away their tears.
Feeling humbled and ashamed of his own self-centeredness Alan walked over to the much smaller group of rescued young men. Again, most were in shock, many having witnessed the death of close family members- parents, spouses, children, brothers and sisters. Almost all blamed themselves for not doing more and were ashamed of their own survival. In their own rough way the village menfolk were trying to help by listening to the stories, sympathizing and using the universal panacea of alcohol, in the form of strong mead and cider.
Alan instructed Baldwin to make sure that sufficient men stayed sober to take over guard duty every six hours, and that the fighting men stayed reasonably sober as most would be marching next day. He then went to the barns where the injured English had been placed and the women had done what they could to make them comfortable. Later, numb with exhaustion, he accepted Anne’s offer of hospitality at her Hall. He fell asleep sitting up at the table with a half-finished cup of wine in his hand. He woke to find himself washed, in clean clothes and lying on the bed in the main bedchamber. By himself.
After wearily rubbing his eyes he pulled on his boots and entered the Hall. Most of the thegns were presently sitting at the head table quietly quaffing ale. Several had bandages around arms and heads. Edwold had his arm in a sling.
There was no euphoria at the victory and the mood could best be described as quiet satisfaction. Too many on both sides had died and Alan could sense an undertone of dissatisfaction at the use of the Wildfire, despite its central part in the victory. It was felt too modern and unprofessional. Alric expressed it all for them as Alan sat down and took a pint of ale and a slice of cold meat pie. “So that’s the future of warfare, hey? Perhaps it’s time for me to retire and sit in front of my fire and leave this sort of thing to you more educated men.”
Alan waved his ale mug. “Not the future of warfare, but its past! I reached 500 years into the past to pull out the answer we needed to win today. You’ve heard the stories about what those Danes did over the last four or five days. They won’t do that again. I had thought, after they surrendered, of releasing them on parole not to return to England again and to give them two of the boats, but not after I heard those stories.
“I promised them mercy, so I won’t hang them. They’ll become slaves, but I suggest we sell them in London, Norwich, Nottingham and York. I don’t want Danish ex-warrior slaves with access to sharp farming implements walking around my estates. Divide them into four groups, hobbled together in a coffle. Three or four of each of you provide an escort to guard them, at least a dozen guards per coffle under a responsible man. Alric, Edwold, Edgard, Swein, Godfrith, Aelfweald, Edward, Cuthbert, Toli, Leofwine and Wade. Also Lady Anne’s thegns Aelfhare, Aethelwulf, Esmund and Wulfgar.”
“Aelfhare died fighting on the line today,” said Alric.
Alan crossed himself and spoke a quiet prayer to himself before continuing. “The head-money will be shared between the sixteen of you, including Aelfhare’s family. That would be about 6,000 shillings?” Alan looked across at Osmund and shouted, “Have you finished accounting what is in those ships and the pile of valuables yet?”
Osmund walked over with a piece of parchment and a quill. “It’s hard to be accurate, since I’m not sure of the values of all of the goods, or the jewels and so on. My best guess is about 12,000 shillings. Hugh has got it all under guard. Also he’s had the prisoners busy tidying the battlefield. He’s had all the trenches dredged to recover the bodies and the weapons at the bottom of the water and put those with the other weapons. All of the burnt and dead bodies he’s had dumped in two of the trenches and filled them in as mass graves- the Danes that is,” Osmund quickly corrected himself. “The dead from Wivenhoe will be buried in the churchyard here tomorrow, and each detachment will take its own dead home when they leave.”
Alan borrowed Osmund’s parchment and quill and made some quick calculations. “We’ll give each man five shillings, cash on the nail before they go. Not tonight, otherwise they’ll start gambling. 100 shillings for each man wounded who has lost a hand, foot or limb, and 100 to any widow whose man has either died so far, or who dies of his injuries. Two shillings to each of the Wivenhoe peasants who took part in the fighting.” Alan realised that even such small sums were a princely reward for poor men.
“Osmund, reserve enough to pay the men when they leave tomorrow morning, except my own men who I’ll pay when we get back to Thorrington. The rest, and the captured arms, we’ll distribute in one week from today in Thorrington to the thegns to use as they see fit. Hugh! Load the rest of the valuables and all the arms and armour into two of the longboats. Get the prisoners filling in the rest of the trenches. We don’t want the local children or drunks falling in and drowning. Break down the onagers, load them on the wagons and send them back to Thorrington. Already done? Good. I’ll have a word to you outside in a minute.”
As the thegns hurried out to do his bidding Alan saw that Anne had been sitting at the table, hidden behind the bulk of some of the men. “You always know what you want, don’t you?” she asked quietly.