Free Raven: Sons of Thunder by Giles Kristian

their lord was a milk-livered nothing and I hoped they could be saved even as I knew they could not.
    Splashes at our rear told me that Norsemen were tipping the English corpses over Fjord-Elk ’s side before their filth could seep into the oak deck. Even the sea breeze could not chase off the stench of shit and blood and I did not look forward to the hard scrubbing we would have to do when this was over.
    Ealdred stepped up on to the bow’s fighting platform so that he stood head and shoulders above his men, a tempting target to our bow- and spearmen.
    ‘I am a lord of Wessex!’ he said. ‘What are you? You are heathen scum writhing in the shadows like maggots in a sheep’s carcass. I do not deal with such as you. No Christian man should, unless he wants a spear in his back. Come, Sigurd, you son of a goat. Come and taste our English steel. Or do you only fight unarmed men?’
    In truth it was well said, even if most of the Norsemen were none the wiser. We hefted our shields and moved forward, but Sigurd bawled that we should hold.
    ‘Good, Ealdred,’ the jarl said. ‘I would have wagered that you would beg like the huglausi you are.’ Coward was a heavy word to throw. ‘But it pleases me to see you would rather die a man’s death even though you have lived as a nothing. Wessex is fine land. A honeycomb like that will need men who are ready to die with a sword in their hands, or else it will swarm with Norsemen in twenty years. Norse bairns will tug your women’s skirts and those bairns will grow into men who whisper to Óðin and Thór. Your White Christ will be a piss stain of a memory.’ Ealdred eyeballed Sigurd fiercely, his long moustache trembling.
    ‘I’ll fight you, Sigurd!’ Mauger bellowed, his broad face red and hateful. ‘Fuck the gods! Let us see what men can do.’
    Some of the Norsemen grumbled and murmured that we should just finish them all instead of talking. They could not understand most of what was said, but they knew a challenge when they saw one and it unsettled them. Mauger was Ealdred’s best warrior; a granite-hard man who had lived through many battles. I had heard it said that Mauger was the greatest warrior that Wessex had so I did not want Sigurd to fight him. But Sigurd was a born warrior too and even a jarl can be in thrall to his honour. To Sigurd such a challenge shone brighter than a journey chest brimming with hack silver.
    ‘Ealdred, first you will fight me yourself and if you do I will let your men go free after I have killed you. They are loyal men, it seems to me. They deserve better than to die for such as you.’ He raised his sword and pointed it at the ealdorman. ‘What do you say? Will you fight me?’
    Ealdred’s lip curled like old leather. ‘I will not,’ he sneered. ‘But I will send Mauger in my stead, to fight you or any man.’ Mauger nodded resolutely. The muscles in his bare arms squirmed beneath his many warrior rings and tattoos. He was a grim, grizzled, stone-faced thing and I shuddered for any man who had to fight him.
    ‘I’ll take the bastard!’ Penda yelled, eyeing Mauger hungrily.
    ‘What are they saying, Raven?’ Bjorn hissed beside me. We were in the third line peering over other men’s shoulders to see what was happening.
    ‘Mauger has challenged Sigurd,’ I said in Norse, raising a ragged hail of insults from Norse mouths.
    ‘I’m going to shit on your heart!’ one man yelled.
    ‘Your own mothers will not be able to piece you together, you fucking farts!’ another hollered. Black Floki and Svein the Red pleaded with Sigurd to let them fight Mauger instead, but Sigurd told them to hold their tongues.
    ‘As jarl it is my right,’ Sigurd said, sheathing his sword. ‘Put down your weapons, men of Wessex, and I give you my word that you will not fatten the ravens this morning. I accept Mauger’s challenge. If he wins you will all go free.’
    ‘And if he does not win?’ one of the Wessexmen asked, getting a sibilant rebuke