I feel that the moment we see the enemy, the attack should begin whether we are rested or not." Brithnoth growled.

"They've no idea what has taken place here, or of the outcome. They will be in good heart and ready for a fight. I'll tell you what. I've an idea, and it just may work as a lure. Ulf, you take the Land-Ravager, and place it and your men in the position over the bend in the river. They will head for their own pennant. That way, their route of escape will be only towards us. You and Brithnoth will be blocking the other two exits out. They will only have the river as an escape. Keep yourselves hidden behind that ridge Brithnoth, and listen for the trumpet call. You will then come down with all force. Is that understood?" Harold said inspired.

"That should work," Ulf said sure in the knowledge that Harold's plan would lead them to a second victory.

"Indeed it should," Brithnoth said looking confident that Harold's plan was sound. "We will have these turds for supper," Ulf said matter-of-factly.

Harold and Brithnoth both fell to their knees in tears on the grass, laughing.

"I'll go get the men sorted out," Ulf said, with a puzzled look. He walked off, still not understanding the joke.

"You know, Swein," said Gyrth. "One day, someone will explain all of this laughter and falling about," Swein said shaking his head slowly as they turned about and ambled away.

Swein and Gyrth moved gingerly through the bodies into open ground further away from the battleground. As they did so, they gazed up at the star with the tail that was still barely visible, when he almost tripped over an unseen obstacle.

Swein looked down and saw a body with an arrow through the base of an unprotected head. The man was well dressed, and obviously a nobleman. Curious, he rolled the body over. "Gyrth, look; it's Tostig!" he exclaimed with a look of anger about him.

Gyrth knelt down to take a closer look at his deceased brother. "What's he doing here, Swein?"

"He was trying to escape, of course. The chicken-livered shit! He's no brother of mine. If asked, you couldn't find him, is that understood?"

Gyrth understood well enough.

Chapter thirteen

ORREI'S STORM

As the hot morning sun beat down upon his head, the messenger made his way through the wet marshlands, fighting off flies and insects that bit his every being. He arrived at the ships, sought out and found Eystein Orri sharpening his weapons on a stone.

Eystein looked up to view the man before him

"Sir, Harold Godwinson has engaged the king in battle. The king requires you to come at all speed with your armor and weapons."

Eystein's jaw dropped, and he stared at the messenger in silence. Eystein rose to his feet and called to all the men under his command to attention. He repeated the message and ordered a general muster. To a man, they were eager to engage the Saxons. A roar emanated from the Norse housecarls who'd been sitting about on the ships idly waiting to serve their king. Dropping their rope repairs, leather cutting and bone carving, they almost fell over each other in an attempt to get off the ships.

"Gather your shields and weapons. We will be off to do battle at once. Sergeants, see to it that the men are ready to march. It is going to take us a while to get there, so bring plenty of water. This heat will do us no favors if we don't drink our fill. This is going to be a long march, and what will we find when we arrive only Odin can know." The men didn't need any coaxing as they gathered themselves together, ready to march.

Eystein thought of Maria. He could almost feel her sweet lips upon his. He wondered, too, why the king had made him his heir and disinherited his son, Olaf, and why he'd given him Maria's hand in marriage. She would be his queen one day, and give him many sons. He gazed about, searching for the man who was to be his backup. Eystein sought out the lazy prince. Olaf, for the sake of Odin, where are you?"

Olaf was gazing at the birds above him, bathing in the warm sun and taking pot shots at them with a catapult. He sat up and called back to Eystein as he rested himself on an oar whilst chewing on a blade of grass. "I'm here, Eystein. I've brought down two seagulls. I've a good eye, and I'm a dead shot, too."

Eystein clambered up the side of the flagship to gaze into the eyes of the young prince.

"Did you hear the news, Olaf?" Eystein asked.

"Yes, of course. Father will be all right. He just needs a back up to make sure we are in full control of the situation. He'll knock the shit out of that dumb asshole, Godwinson. I would not even bother going, if I were you. The battle will be over and won, by the time you arrive; so; what's the point?" Olaf said as he shot at another seagull, but missed.

Eystein glared at him and could hardly believe his ears.

"Did you hear me, Olaf? The king has next to no armor and only half the men he needs to make battle. Look -- you stay here, in case the very worst happens. I want you to be ready to sail," Eystein said with a hint of exasperation in his voice.

Olaf shrugged his shoulders, and he lay on his back to soak more of the sun's warmth.

"That's fine by me, Eystein. You go and get your head chopped off since you're the warrior. I'm just a prince of the realm. What do I know of such things?"

Eystein wondered why he should feel so puzzled at his friend's apparent flippancy, when a change of expression came over Eystein's face; no longer was Olaf his friend. Eystein was the Norwegian kings successor and Olaf a dolt.

"Stop buggering about, Olaf! This is serious stuff. Your father is obviously in deep shit and you make light of the situation." He turned away, his contempt for Olaf now obvious.

"Are your men ready?" Eystein called to his sergeants. He needed no reply. He marched around to the front of his troops and stood looking at the men under his direct command. A young boy brought him two shields, and spare coat of mail armor with two swords. He saw that his men had gathered their armor and were ready to reinforce his king.

"Well, let's make a move. We're going to show Godwinson just who is the stronger force."

The men walked for nearly three hours across coimtry to save time, not following the route taken by the king. The men were sweating and carrying their armor plus extras for the men ahead.

The flies buzzed and were a constant irritant, and the mosquitoes stung their skin. The men were hot and bothered, but ignoring the insects, they trudged onward. There wasn't a tree, or any shade to be had. Eystein's force stopped here and there to drink water. Many of the men used their shields to protect themselves from the sweltering heat; they carried on regardless; they were housecarls, men of honor.

At last, they reached the site of the previous battle. Eystein gazed around him, and he saw that all was quiet, too quiet; it was almost eerie. Eystein stopped the advance, and took stock of what was before him.

What happened? There must be signs of life somewhere, he thought. He moved further forward, and over a small hillock, he noticed a very large formation of warriors around the Land-Ravager banner. He smiled at the sight of Sigurdsson's pennant; and then his smile became a grin as he turned to admire his warriors.

"We're in time. Follow me to the Land-Ravager," Eystein ordered his arm pointing in the general direction of the standard. Eystein had his men grouped in files five abreast, as they marched forward. They came upon a pile of corpses heaped to the height of a man. He was puzzled; Eystein couldn't distinguish one body from another. Eystein and his men moved forward toward the gently flapping Land-Ravager. Only then did Eystein realize they had been tricked. The corpses they had passed were all that was left of Sigurdsson's poorly armed infantry. It was too late though, as a superior force that had full advantage of the land and the situation surrounded them. Eystein cursed himself; that given good intelligence ahead, he wouldn't have fallen into the trap.

A trumpet sounded, and with a rush, Brithnoth's men came from behind the bank and stormed down the slope towards Eystein and his warriors. Ulf and his men threw down the Land-Ravager and marched toward Eystein's meager battalion, which by now was quickly taking a defensive stand.

Eystein saw Harold's forces coming from the front, cutting off any forward movement or escape. "Form a circle, lock shields, and keep tight," Eystein instructed; his face, with a look of deep concern, contorted to a vengeful anger. He watched as the shield wall began to form around him; his men knew that they had no option but to fight. Capitulation was not an option. The Norsemen began to chant, and their natural fears were put aside as the adrenaline flowed in the veins of each man. They began banging their shields and calling out their Norse mantras, working themselves into fl-enzy.

"Sergeants, keep tight at all times. No matter what happens we can get out of this, but we need time," Eystein bellowed; full in the knowledge they were now surrounded, and that to surrender would mean disgrace for himself and all his men. It was a case of fight and die; it was as simple as that.

Slowly, the Saxon warriors moved forward to within feet of the shield wall tempting the men to rush at them and break the wall of solid interlocking shields. The taunts from the Saxons were echoed in kind by replies from the Norsemen within the shield wall. Harold thought that the only option was to rush the wall with full weight and force, and they might, perhaps, break through. He had an idea brewing-- his grin was as wide as a barn door at the thought. He gathered some fyrdsmen to him, and gave them particular orders. The chosen men then returned to the ranks; the two armies were now within a foot of each other.

Then, a few moments later the Norwegians were astonished to see Saxon fyrdsmen clambering upon the shields of their brethren, standing above them, using the shields of their comrades. With a gush, streams of urine poured from above, soaking the men behind Danish wall of gleaming, polished shields. Up came a shield here and there to defend against the urine from the bloodied Saxon men above. Harold's housecarls rushed into the wall, breaching the defense ease and with vigor.

"Stand fast! Stand fast!" Eystein called. "We can defeat these men if we stand fast!" Eystein took a blow on the helmet from a sword but managed to fend off the next attack, killing the man before him with a straight thrust of his sword. For my king and Maria, I will fight unto the death. I will die with love and glory in my heart, he thought as he killed yet another Saxon with a thrust of his weapon.

As before, the fighting began in earnest. The battle was frighteningly fierce as each man killed his nearest enemy until at last there was a general route of the extremely tired defenders. The Saxons fought like sharks in a feeding frenzy. Eystein's men began to scatter, being hacked down by the Saxon battle-axes.

Overwhelmed, some Norwegians took to the water behind them, only to drown as their armor and jupons became a soaking mass pulling them down. The river turned red with the blood of the dead and wounded, defeated Norsemen.

Eystein Orri fought on, until he, too, was brought down by a blow from a Saxon battle- axe. His eyes bulged as the blow struck his chest, slicing through his mail armor, and he fell to his knees. On his lips, he uttered a choking Maria. As he gurgled, he saw his ancestors in Valhalla beckoning him to come to them. From a second blow Eystein's head rolled from his body, and Eystein Orri had done his duty to his king. As Eystein fell, the battle ceased, and once more the ground was awash with the blood and bodies of lifeless Saxons and Norwegians alike.

Just as darkness was dosing in, not one of Eystein men was left standing. There was now silence as finally the battle halted. The only sounds were a few moans from wounded men of both sides dying or pitifully wounded. Men were detailed to help the Saxon injured, to be eased away to have their wounds dressed.

Harold's housecarls mingled through those Norsemen still breathing, and the slaughter continued as the living were put out of their misery by the cutting of their throats, no matter how trivial their wounds. The crows swooped down picking at the eyes of the dead, followed by the seagulls and other carnivores.

Harold's men were fighters to the core; so too, were the Sigirrdsson's housecarls.

Harold, though elated, felt a sense of shame at the waste of good men on both sides. He looked about him, the ground blooded red; not a blade of green grass could be seen. The carrion were now in a frenzy of feeding that made Harold feel sick at the sight of the carnage before him.

The sky began to darken further as the heavens opened and a downpour washed the field.

"Ulf!" Harold called. "Go and see to it that the men left on the boats be brought to the battlefield by first light. I have no idea how many there are, but you'd better take a contingent with you in case there is any fighting to be done. Take the horses, and you should be there before midnight. Don't alarm them... that could be dangerous for you. Just call on them, and tell them they have lost the battles and that their king is dead-- that they must come as our prisoners. If there is any sign they might put up a fight, then torch the ships."

Ulf stood in the twilight pondering, looking down at the thousands of bodies of good men who were wasted for a cause they could never hope to attain, all for the greed of one man, who'd had it all anyway.

"Ulf!" Harold called once more.

Ulf was startled into attention and turned aroimd. "I'm sorry, sire. My thoughts were elsewhere. What was it you were saying?" For a moment, he noticed that Harold looked irritated.

Brithnoth took Ulf to one side and briefed him on Harold's order.

Harold walked towards the two men, feeling a little perplexed. "What is the matter with you, Ulf?" Harold asked. "Come on; spit it out, man."

Ulf shrugged. "I'm on my way, sire. I'll see you at first light." At that, Ulf took off to round up the best of the rest of his men to accompany him to the ships.

Brithnoth took Harold firmly by the arm. "Harold, Ulf told me it was a shame we couldn't have taken these men south with us. They were brave warriors, a fit and formidable force, well able to fill our ranks, and now that Sigurdsson is dead they could have been useful to us, and I'm sure they would have been well rewarded, should they have been needed to battle alongside us in the future."

"I'd thought of that, Brithnoth. Their leader was a young and dedicated man. He had a job to do, and he tried... even if it meant in the end that he had to die for his master. No amount of coaxing from us would have changed his mind. Neither would the men who fought with him have come to us. I would have been proud to have such men in my ranks. Come; we must leave the field and allow our men to rest for a couple of days. We have to secure York tomorrow, and I've plans to return to London. There are things I must do that only a king can do, and that is to secure the south coast in case there is an invasion from the bastard. Let's hope that in this great victory he'll be dissuaded from stupidity. If he does decide to oppose us, he will gain only as much of England as he is tall, just as Sigurdsson has been allowed," Harold said, looking confident but tired.

"I'll see that our camp is set in an orderly fashion, Harold. Err... are you off to York just now, by any chance? Brithnoth asked.

"You old devil, you want me to bring that wench, the Lady Amanda, back with me, don't you? She's probably married a baker by now. I'll see to it she is brought first thing in the morning, Brithnoth. I won't let you down old man." Harold grinned, then mounted his horse and rode off in the failing light toward York.

The morning light shone through the window of Harold's bedchamber. He awoke to spasms in his legs and was in so much pain that he called for Cedric to help him in getting up from his cot. "Damn! I hate cramps. I would rather have a tooth pulled by the bastard than these bloody spasms. I seem to get them more often these days, my boy. It's a sign of old age perhaps?" Cedric just smiled and called the chambermaid in to serve the king's breakfast.

"This will be the first decent meal you've had since we left London, Father."

"You called me father, Cedric?"

Cedric just smiled and left the room to the maid and Harold to his breakfast. Harold stood gazing through the window wondering if there was to be any more fighting done. He wondered if anyone else would attempt to invade England after this ignominious defeat of Harald Sigurdsson. Would the bastard attempt a crossing now that I've secured my kingship? Should I send a message to the bastard warning him off? He mused. Harold fought against sending any message. "Let the bastard come; he'll be surprised at our greeting, " he muttered, and strolled over to the stables to mount his horse to be met by his brothers and generals, and set out to complete the previous day's work.

By noon, Ulf and Swein had assembled the ship's company of Norsemen outside the gates of York. The men of the fyrd were rested, and a fresh guard was made up from Edwin and Morcar's battalions, and brought forward to escort the prisoners back to their ships with a message that they should never return.

Olaf stepped forward and looked Harold squarely into his eyes. "I wish to take my father's body to his homeland to be buried on the soil of his birth."

A frown came upon Harold's face. He grimaced and spat the words out through his teeth. "Your father will be buried as I promised, in seven feet of earth," Harold said indignantly. "I lost many good men and dear friends to your father's greed. The cost will be paid. You, my boy, will learn this lesson, and learn it well. England will be free of all foreign influence for the next thousand years. Go and tell that to your people." Harold waved his arm, and Olaf was forcibly ushered outside. He was to be escorted, along with his kin, to await the twenty- four ships allocated for their return to the land of their birth.

Olaf boarded the ship with his men. They weighed anchors, pushed off into the river, and sailed down with the brown tidal surge, with the bloated bodies of their comrades floating along its banks. As the sun beat down, the smell of decomposing flesh entered the noses of the Norsemen, and the stench made them retch.

Olaf glanced at the carrion, picking eyes of dead warriors for their lunches. He winced as he saw foxes dragging off torn limbs of men who fought valiantly in vain for their king, only to be used as food for the wild beasts of England.

From the banks of the river, villagers looked on as the surviving Norwegians sang laments for their fallen comrades, then sang of their wish to be in Valhalla with their king, friends, and companions as they passed by.

Olaf ordered some of his fleet to land in the Orkneys to pick up Elizabeth and Maria, while he was to sail on to Norway in ignominy and shame.

A few days later, on the Isle of Orkney, Maria held her flowers to her breast, and she smelled the pleasing aroma from their multicolored heads. She looked to the shore where the seals swam and the cormorants dived to catch their fish, and then sat majestically digesting their meal. She began to hum a tune that came into her mind. She felt little butterflies inside her tummy, and she patted her bulge and smiled, then turned her gaze to the swallows swooping. Maria noticed a man some way off, approaching her. As he got closer, she could see he was a housecarl, and by his demeanor, that all was not well.

"No, don't come near," she ordered. "He is dead; isn't he?" Her eyes welled with tears as her head dropped to gaze at her pregnant, swollen belly.

The housecarl nodded. "They're all dead," he whispered.

The flowers dropped from her hand. Her tears fell in rivulets down her cheeks as she stood looking towards the shoreline, where she and her beloved Eystein Orri once made love in the grass. She walked slowly toward the water and into the sea, to be with her man.

The last of the real Vikings were dead, never to be seen again.