Chapter Text
The weak sun was dispersing the dawn fog as Uhtred watched from the grassy ridge, sat on his arse, dizzy, impotent, his head bleeding and ringing, blackness in one eye.The sight in his other eye was enough to show him that this was an ill-conceived plan and that this battle was lost.
Once he knew Uhtred was safe, Finan had re-joined the fray, leading his men to the same wall under which Uhtred had received the blow to his shield and helmet, but this time accompanied by archers under the capable Saxon, Cenwulf. The archers were able to push back the Norsemen on the ramparts enough to allow Finan and two of his warriors to place ladders up against the wall, and Uhtred watched with mounting horror as Finan started to climb.
‘Help me up’ Uhtred shouted, to no-one in particular but one of Bishop Iremias’ girls who stood next to him, leaned down and offered her arm, and proved surprisingly strong in helping Uhtred to his feet. He wobbled, and tried to blink away the darkness that persisted in his left eye, but then steadied himself to watch as Finan continued to climb. The Norsemen on the ramparts dodged the arrows and tried to rain rocks down onto the three ladders from above. Uhtred could see Cenwulf suddenly turn and shout something to his men and realised the arrows were almost gone. Most seemed to be stuck in the shields of the Norse on the wall, and Cenwulf was shouting for a re-supply, from any bowman who had any arrows left, and then Finan reached the top of the rampart just at the same time as the flow of arrows dried up.
He had his short sword drawn, all the better to sweep in narrow arcs at the enemies’ heads and arms as they leaned over the timber walls, and one hand free to climb, and it was no mean feat to climb a ladder and fight one handed and at the same time create a space at the top to dismount and land on the fighting platform.
But Finan was quick and lithe and was leaning and swinging across both sides of the ladder to swipe at his foe, taking a rung up with each swing, and at first he seemed to be succeeding. But as Finan neared the top of the ramparts, the Norsemen realised that the arrows had stopped flying and they could resume their defence. Uhtred watched through one teared up eye as four of the enemy leaned over the top of the palisade and four pairs of hands grabbed at Finan’s tunic and grappled at his mail and heaved.
Uhtred still watched as seemingly in slow motion, Finan’s feet left the rungs of the ladder, his sword sheared across an enemy arm, and then he was gone, hauled over the top of the wall and pulled down the other side.
Uhtred’s chest was heaving, his breathing ragged, and he clutched unknowingly at the girl’s arm who stood beside him, and his eyes scanned the top of Skoll’s fort, desperately searching for any sign of Finan re-emerging, screaming in his country’s language and swinging away.
That had been two days ago, and Uhtred was frantic.
In those intervening days Sigtrygrr had swept the perimeter of the mountain fort and collected all his men, gathering them again on the grassy ridge, he had dispatched forage parties and set scouts, had organised care for the wounded, and had, as much as possible, established a working army camp on the high ground alongside Heahburh.They had lost as much as a third of their men in that initial doomed assault, whilst Skoll had lost a mere handful.
Uhtred meanwhile had fretted and chafed, he had barely slept and his men could not persuade him to eat, he had stood, endlessly staring at the fort’s high walls, or up at the sky for any omen from the Gods, his mind whirring through the possibilities, the opportunities to reach Finan. And when the darkness fell on each successive day his mind turned to the dangers, the agonies of what had become of the Irishman, what he was going through, if he was still alive, and on and on it went and round and round.
And then on the second day the Gods smiled and the opportunity to reach Finan presented itself. Berg Skallagrimmrson had two brothers serving under Skoll, Egil and Thorolf, both of whom undoubtedly had assumed their youngest brother long dead. But Berg it seemed had managed to make contact when assaulting the North wall, having been carrying his makeshift eagle banner, fashioned out of Father Cuthbert’s black cassocks, as he stood at the base of a ladder. His brother Egil had recognised the family banner, and had shouted down to Berg that he would reach him in the days ahead. For Egil could get messages in and out.
The fort was built into the rock and supported on its front edge by huge timber struts that allowed it to hang precariously out over the side of the cliff edge. Those timbers had been replaced and well-maintained by Skoll but it was under these dark dripping trunks that a gap lay hidden. And like any rat in any city, the smallest and least significant member of Skoll’s fortress community, a servant girl, not more than ten years old, had found this gap and she made use of it every day. She would wait each night until the kitchen slaves had settled down for the night before creeping out of the kitchen, stepping over the sleeping bodies, and making her way across the courtyard and under the timbers, crawling several feet on her front until she reached a timber post slightly skinnier than its neighbours. Twisting onto her side she would pull herself through the gap and down the steep hillside to her village below, which was no more than a few hovels perched on the grassy slopes, but it was where her father lived. And each morning before dawn she would reverse the process to return to the kitchens before her masters and mistresses stirred.
And Egil had spied this small child on the sleepless night before the day of Uhtred’s doomed attack, and now he had himself a secret entrance and exit from his Lord’s fortress to send out his messenger rat.
This was the opportunity Berg had brought Uhtred on the morning of the second day that Finan was missing - he had received a message from the slave girl as she made her way back to her work in the kitchens, whispering to him in the darkness just before the dawn, telling him of Egil and Thorolf’s numbers in the fort, and of their total frustration with their Lord Skoll. As with any leader of the Norsemen, Skoll was judged for his ability to bring his men silver and land and all Skoll had brought to his men so far was the defeat of Eoferwic and the defence of a fortress on barren rocks miles from any fertile ground. Between them the two Norse brothers commanded over two hundred men and they were ready to try a new leader.
And so Uhtred, weary with worry, started to plot the rescue of Finan and the taking of Heahbugh.