In the fields below, Harald Sigirrdsson rode out with Tostig by his side. Harald's fighting men were being used to usher the burgers and countrymen to deposit their riches in one giant heap.

From a short distance away came a call from one of Sigurdsson's guards. Harald turned aroimd in the saddle to see the man running towards him.

"Sire, look!" came a call from a man who was now breathless and pointing towards the high ground a thousand or so paces away. Harald rode forward to get a better view.

"Tostig, get your arse over here right now! Who is that on the ridge? I don't want any bullshit. Do you recognize that gonfanon?" He grimaced at Tostig, menacingly. 'Tostig! "

"Oh, hell! It's my brother, Harold." Tostig said.

Sigurdsson called down to the man. An earnest, yet exdted look was about him.

"Have a man saddle a horse. I want him to take a message to Eystein Orri. Tell the messenger to have him here as soon as he can, to bring all his forces, with full armor. He then turned his gaze towards his Saxon companion, Tostig. "Now is the time to prove your worth," Harald said earnestly.

Sigurdsson had to make a stand with what he had, and stall for some time to allow Orri to arrive to reinforce him. They Norwegians were deplete of armor, but they had enough warriors to make a fight. From Sigurdsson's right there was movement and in the distance the sound of screams that men make when they're disemboweled, filled the air.

"What's going on there, by the bridge, Tostig?" Sigurdsson asked not able to making out what was happening, for his vision was inefficient at such distance.

"The berserker guard is fending off Harold's men, sire."

The berserker guard swung and struck again and again. He brought down yet another man on the bridge that was just wide enough for only two men to cross side by side. His eyes were wild with the rage he had built up inside himself, for he knew that at any moment he would be dead. For his king and comrades, a berserker would do his duty until death. His companions needed the time that he could give them that would allow them to regroup and to array themselves into battle order.

Harold was frustrated, and saw that Gyrth was in need of a way around this berserker guard. Harold spied a small boat that was tied to a minute landing stage.

"Gyrth, use the boat," Harold called.

Gyrth glanced back at Harold and raised a hand. Gyrth beckoned two fyrdsmen in his retinue to come forward and to take orders for a special mission. He told them to get themselves into the boat, and gave orders for them to spear the guard from beneath the bridge, and that the task was to be carried out immediately lest they were going to be detained here all day, otherwise.

"For God's sake, Gyrth, hurry. We'll end up getting killed one by one if this affair isn't terminated immediately," Harold bellowed, but he could tell that the two men understood what was required of them. With fascination, Harold watched as the men scrambled aboard, and untied the vessel some hundred paces or so up stream. They paddled along with the flow of the river, keeping a slow yet steady pace.

The boat, in an ungainly fashion, came slowly toward the bridge, the first man steering with a paddle, the second man standing stood upright with the spear ready to do its bloody work from beneath. Not a word was exchanged between them, as they neared the crazed berserker, who was still flailing his deadly battle-axe back and forth at his attackers, oblivious to what was beneath him. As the boat passed underneath and with careful aim, the fyrdsman thrust the spear through the slats of the bridge and into the groin of the berserker above. The man, in agony, lost consciousness and fell over, dead. The fight was finally over, but not before twenty good men lay dead at his feet.

"Sergeant, clear the bridge, and get across. Go... go! Gyrth bellowed irritably.

Harold rode across first, and in just a few moments he was up the bank on the other side, and saw that the Norsemen were now arrayed in battle order. Harold felt disappointed that they'd lost so much time at the crossing, and saw that the Norsemen made a full drcle countering the flanking attack that he wanted to make.

Ulf rode to Harold's side and then looked up the gentle slop.

From the left Harold saw two men on horseback approach them, and turned to Ulf who was sitting quietly observing the scene.

"You don't have to tell me. I know my own brother, when I see him. If I could persuade him to come back into the fold, we could possibly settle this dispute in an orderly way."

Ulf sat in the saddle, taciturn, and observed what was transpiring in front of them. The two riders slowly wound their way towards them. Tostig was riding his white pony, with Hardrada on a huge and handsome looking destrier mare. The two men stopped just a few paces away from them. Harold leant forward then spoke in a determined yet controlled tone toward his unruly brother. He turned his head to gaze into the face of Harald Sigurdsson, but then returned to look directly into the face of his brother, Tostig.

"So, Tostig, are you going to come over to us? You can have your earldom and half the northern shires, too, if you return to the family and fight with us. You know well enough that I'll keep my word," Harold said in a beseeching tone.

Harold stared into Harald Sigurdsson's eyes and could sense the power of this man. He knew he could more than meet his strength in arms and courage, yet he didn't underestimate Harald's valor or ability and skill. He returned his gaze once more towards his brother. With pleading eyes he implored him to cross over to him.

"You bastards kept me from my Edward, so you've no chance of my embracing you-- bastards!"

Harold saw the unyielding contempt in his brother's face.

"Harold. If you think I brought this king here just to betray him, then you're wrong. What would you offer him in return for a peaceful settlement?" Tostig stood up in his saddle.

Harold did the same, in defiant gesture. "This is no time for family rows. I'm here to clean my kingdom of an invading king and his army of disrespectful and thieving vagabonds. You can tell him that I'll give him seven feet of earth or as much taller than he is above other men," Harold replied indignantly and moving his gaze to Sigurdsson.

At this, Tostig signaled to Hardrada that the parley was at an end.

The Norwegian king turned his horse about, and Tostig followed him up the slope toward the Norwegian troops.

"Well, what happened?" Sigurdsson asked inquisitively.

"There is to be no compromise. We must be prepared to do battle at once, sire."

"You've not told me, Tostig. Who was that man with the moustache?" Sigurdsson asked.

"Harold, my brother, of course."

"Tostig, why didn't you tell me? I would have killed him there and then, if I'd known." Harald and Tostig rode back until they reached the circle of men where the standard of Sigurdsson, the Land-Ravager, flew tall in the center of the circle. They dismounted, then patted their horses and watched as the animals ran off the fleld. Cheers for their king rang out from amongst the Norwegians. The two men now entered the circle to await their fate.

Harold knew that though his enemy were not fully armored, each of Sigurdsson's men would stand their ground and flght until they were successful, or die flghting to the last man; if they had to.

The Saxon king signaled to Brithnoth to start his move, and the Saxons moved in quickly, flanking, and eventually surrounding the Norsemen, with shouts and jeers. The housecarls and fyrd stood by their sergeants and awaited their orders. Brithnoth called out his orders.

"Aweccan! Guth raew filciath! Stande faeste! Waepnu nimth as Abideth bebob!" (Attention! Form the battle line! Stand firm! Raise your weapons and await the order!) Brithnoth looked towards Harold for the command. As in ofl times of old, the Saxons always fought on foot, so Harold dismounted; he would fight standing side-by-side with his men.

The silence was deafening, and the men tense. Not a word could be heard, just the Birds, unaware of what was to come next, chirped.

Harold's strides were forceful and his demeanor menacing. He moved toward the Norwegian and broke the silence. He spoke clearly and loudly in the Norwegian tongue.

"My name is Harold. I'm king of this fair country which you seek to take as your own. I give you fair chance to return to your ships, your wives and children; you will have safe conduct. Stay, and you will die where you stand."